A Diamond In The Rough
by Summer Skye
Summary: After being convinced by Watson, Holmes spends the evening at the theatre. There he finds someone he did not expect.
1. A Friendly Reunion

Greetings, again. Summer Skye, the new Sherlock Holmes fan fic writer on the block, here with the revised edition of A Friendly Reunion, Chapter 1 of A Diamond in the Rough. A few things before you read.

Thank you georgie d for your review. To tell you the truth I wasn't too happy with what I had posted to begin with, but I didn't know what was wrong with it. Thanks to you, I know what had to be fixed. Keep on reviewing.

Spyglass, your encouragement is a big help. Keep up the good reviews.

To everyone else, please review. Let me know if I have seriously gone down the wrong path. I can't fix it if you don't tell me. For those readers who believe I have sinned by writing a Sherlock Holmes romance, please don't hate me and don't flame me. Instead just don't read the story. And if you have to hate someone, hate my muse. I just write what she tells me to.

Now on with the story. Enjoy!

WATSON

It was late April of 1887 and I was sitting by the fire with my friend and colleague, Sherlock Holmes. I had been concerned with my friend's health for sometime. We had just returned from Reigate, where Holmes was supposed to have a rest, but had solved a case instead. I think that I shall entitle the story _The Reigate Squires_. Now Holmes was being bombarded by cases. Not a day went by when he didn't have a client with a case to put before the great Sherlock Holmes. Most he solved in a day or two. He considered them trivial, but took them anyway. In a way I was glad for these trivial cases, because they gave Holmes stimulation. Before when he had no cases to work on, he used a seven percent solution of cocaine as a substitute for his lack of mental simulation. Now that he was so busy with cases, he used it less frequently.

However, this particular week had been a fairly light caseload and Holmes had returned to the comfort of his vice. This concerned me and I became desperate to look for away to keep him distracted. I eagerly scanned the papers daily in search of something that would pull him away from the grasp that cocaine had upon him. But my search was in vain until I read the Thursday early edition of the Times. In the paper was an article concerning a recent production of Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. The article was written about a young actress by the name of Adeline Carmichael. The article wrote of the controversy over her portrayal of the character of Robin Goodfellow, also known as Puck. I thought at first that it was a rather bold casting choice having a woman play such a role. But reading further, I learned that she was quite an accomplished actress and singer. After this production, the article said, she had the intention of retiring and living in comfort for the rest of her days.

When I mentioned this to Holmes, he simply said, "You think that by dragging me to this production of fairies and four comical lovesick people, you will pull me away from my so called addiction."

"Holmes, you know very well my views on your use of cocaine between cases. Please come to the play with me. If nothing else, it will give you an opportunity to find out what is coming up in the following season."

He rose from his chair and took tobacco from the toe of the Persian slipper. He loaded his pipe with it and struck a match. Sucking the flame into the bowl, he resumed his seat and looked at me with his piercing gray gaze. "Very well, doctor. I shall take your advice and spend the evening at the theatre."

I was amazed by this turn around in his manner, but I gave little thought to it because I had achieved what I had set out to do. So that night, after a bit of dinner, Holmes and I went to the Savoy for a night at the theatre. The performance was among the best I had ever seen. Miss Carmichael gave a very energetic and convincing performance of the impish Puck. I only saw her at a distance, but I could see that she was a woman of exceptional beauty and talent. She must have made an impression on Holmes as well. Throughout the performance, he sat mesmerized. It was as if he somehow he knew who she was, but couldn't place her.

After the performance, we went backstage in search of some of Holmes' acquaintances that managed the theatre. As we walked, something caught my eye. It must have caught Holmes' eye as well. He stooped and picked it up. It was a woman's earring, a pearl set in solid gold.

"Typical of a woman," Holmes said as he pocketed the earring. "Always losing such things, then buying new ones. Then after a period of time, they find the lost pair and discard them. It is a wonder that more men aren't bankrupt from their wives outlandish buying habits."

"Now Holmes, that is unfair. Some men have outlandish buying habits and their wives are the ones who are going bankrupt."

He simply shrugged and continued walking. I gave a sigh of despair and followed him. We were about to round a corner, when a woman came hurrying from other side of the corner. She slammed right into Holmes's body with such force she almost lost her balance. Holmes took her arms and helped her to regain stability.

"Thank you, sir. You must forgive me, but I'm a bit preoccupied."

She was a beauty of a woman. Her hair looked like a sunset, gently flowing down her back in a mass of corkscrew curls, stopping just above her waist. A light dusting of freckles ran across her nose and cheeks. She regarded us through sea fog gray eyes. In them, I could see a hint of playful mischief. Strangest of all she was missing an earring.

"Think nothing of it, madam," Holmes said, politely tipping his hat to her. "Losing an earring can cause one to be a bit preoccupied.

The woman's eyes grew wide with surprise. Her hand flew to the ear that had been deprived of its ornament. "How did you know I was missing on earring?"

"A piece of very simple deduction. You come rushing around a corner your head bowed towards the floor, obliviously in search of something. When you looked up, I observed that you had one pearl earring in your ear. The other ear had been missing such a decoration. Therefore I deduced that you have lost this piece of jewelry."

He removed the earring from his pocket and presented it to her. Her once grim face broke into a smile. Her eyes beamed with wonder and surprise. She took the earring from Holmes and placed it back in its place. "Oh thank you, sir! I don't know what I would have done without it. It does not do for one to have one earring missing."

"No, it does not. They have a sentimental value to you, I take it."

"They do indeed. My mother gave them to me when I came home from boarding school when I was eighteen." She smiled and turned to leave.

"Madam," I said. She stopped and turned back to us. "May I inquire as to your name?"

"Adeline Carmichael," she replied.

"Miss Carmichael, may I compliment you on your performance tonight. It was extraordinarily well done."

"Thank you, Mister..." It then occurred to me that I hadn't introduced myself.

"Dr. John Watson," I politely kissed her hand. "And this is my friend and colleague Sherlock Holmes."

Her eyes widened in shock and surprise. Her jaw dropped and she took a step or two backwards. Her hand went to her breast as she breathed. For a moment, I feared she might faint, until she spoke. "My God. Holmes? Is that you?"

"I beg your pardon, Miss Carmichael. But I do not seem to recognize your name or your face."

Her eyes showed disappointment and sadness. "You don't know me? We spent our childhood together. You don't remember running through the meadows of Willow Grove? Or sitting by the fire in the winter, discussing how showy Dupin was in Poe's _The Purloined Letter_?"

Holmes stared at the woman for many long moments. Then something dawned on him. "Emma?" he whispered.

She nodded and smiled. She embraced Holmes, and he returned the embrace. When they parted, both wore beaming smiles. "Look at you," she said. "I'm glad to see that you are still living by your wits."

"You read Watson's little adventures?"

"Yes. I must say, however, he portrays you older than you are. You should know Dr. Watson, that he is only twenty-seven."

"But how could you know that?" I asked, in shock.

She simply smiled and looked at Holmes. Holmes turned to me and to my surprise he said, "Watson, this is Miss Emma Callaway. She and I grew up together in Yorkshire. She was the closest friend I had."

"Emma Callaway?" I was a bit puzzled. She called herself 'Adeline Carmichael', but her name was Emma Callaway?

Miss Callaway obviously saw my confusion, because she smiled understandingly. "Adeline Carmichael is my stage name."

I was still confused. "But why would you not use your given name? Emma is such a beautiful name. It suits you much better than Adeline."

Miss Callaway blushed at my compliment. But she quickly looked up at Holmes as if to ask him a question in silence. He shook his head. She nodded and sighed. "I thank you for your compliment, Dr. Watson. However, my reasons for using a pseudonym shall remain my own concern for the time being."

"Very well, Miss Callaway. Please forgive any intrusion I may have made."

"That's quite all right, my good doctor, it is you who must forgive me. I have kept you in this cold and drafty hallway. If we are to continued this conversation, I propose we do it in a more comfortable environment."

"I agree," Holmes said. "It would not do to have one of us catch our deaths in cold. Emma, I am surprised that you can work in such a freezing atmosphere."

She smiled as she turned to lead us down the hallway she had come rushing down. I observed that she shivered a little. "It isn't so different from the winters in Yorkshire. I just think of it as I've been outside too long and I need to go inside, wrap myself in a warm blanket with a cup of tea and a good book."

"Yes, but remember when you got sick because you were out too long," Holmes said gravely.

She nodded grimly. The look on their faces gave me the impression that Miss Callaway may have almost died when they were younger. Her next words confirmed my suspicions.

"It is difficult to forget having pneumonia, no matter how many years have gone by."

She and Holmes were silent the rest of the way to wherever it was Miss Callaway was leading us. In this prolonged silence, I decided to make a few more deductions about Miss Callaway using the methods that Holmes frequently begged me to use.

Miss Callaway, as I mentioned before, was a beautiful woman. She didn't look to be more than twenty-six. She seemed to be well-bred young woman, for her accent had a hint of authority in it and she spoke of a boarding school when we first met her. Her earring also spoke of wealth, because they were made of solid gold and the pearl was flawless. Her hair was down; therefore she left her dressing room to find the earring before she was finished dressing her hair. She and Holmes spoke on familiar terms, which meant Holmes thought highly of her and respected her.

But this was all I could deduce, for Miss Callaway stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. She took a key from her dress pocket and unlocked the door. She entered and Holmes and I followed. It was a dressing room, very sparsely furnished. The dressing table was littered with theatrical make-up and costume jewelry. In the center of the table lay a sterling silver jewelry box with a coat of arms engraved on the lid, left slightly opened. I couldn't see the characteristics of the coat of arms, but I could tell it meant there was more to Miss Callaway than met the eye. My eye wondered to the wardrobe was slightly open. In it were numerous dresses, theatrical costumes, and other forms of clothing, hats, gloves, and shoes. There was a couch by the small window. It was covered with blankets and pillows. It was made neat and tidily as one would make a bed. A nightdress lay on top of it, folded neatly.

Miss Callaway sat in the chair in front of the dressing table. She took some hairpins from the table and began to pin up her hair. As she did this Holmes and I sat on the couch. Holmes removed his hat and sighed in contentment.

"How have you been, Holmes?" Miss Callaway asked, looking at us in her mirror.

"Very well. I've kept busy with cases that are trivial, so I won't bore you with them. How have you been faring, my dear Emma?"

"Not well. My father has all but disowned me."

"Really?" Holmes asked in an alarmed tone.

"Quite. He was not happy with me and my choice of careers." She thrust the final pin into her hair. She turned to us and smiled. "But I try not to think of it. I still write to my mother in Yorkshire. She comes to town ever now and again, but that is all that I see of her. Perhaps now that I am retiring, I should return to Yorkshire, since I have no where else to go."

"But surely," I said, "you can remain in London, and live on the money you have made."

"I believe, Dr. Watson, you and Holmes are sitting on my bed."

Holmes looked just as surprised and concerned as I was. It was plain to us that as soon as Miss Callaway retired from the theatrical world, she would be homeless and forced to return to a home she obviously did not want to be. But what could we do?

It was then I remembered that Mrs. Hudson had a vacant room on the upper floor of 221B. I was sure that Mrs. Hudson would not object to having Miss Callaway take up residence there. But whether or not Holmes would agree was another matter entirely. But it was worth asking.

"Miss Callaway," I said.

"Yes, Doctor Watson?"

"I believe that I know of a place for you to stay. Our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, has a vacant room in the upper regions of 221B. I'm sure that she'd allow you to take up lodgings there." I looked over at Holmes and he gave me a look saying that he did not approve of this. "Come, come, Holmes. She has nowhere else to go."

"I am aware of that Watson," he said, sharply.

"Dr. Watson, will you excuse us for a moment or two?" Miss Callaway said. I got up and she walked me to the door. "I'll talk to him," she whispered as I walked out.

She closed the door. I found a chair down the hall and sat down, wondering what they could possibly be talking about.

EMMA-

As soon as Dr. Watson left, I returned my attention on Holmes. He returned my gaze with his piercing gray eyes. I had to play this carefully. I knew after years of experience that if argued with Holmes outright we would be at a stand still. He and I were extremely stubborn and we both knew it.

I sat on my makeshift bed next to him. "How are your parents?" I asked.

"Both well. I'm not on speaking terms with my father, but I still hear from my mother a few times a year," he answered quietly.

"Your brothers and sister?"

"Mycroft lives here in London. Calantha still lives with my parents at North Riding. Sherrinford is married and has two children. A boy of two called Thomas and they just had a daughter who they named Diana."

"That's good to hear." We were both silent for long moments, when Holmes finally broke the tense silence.

"I suppose you are wondering why I object to you living at Baker Street?" He asked with his head bowed.

"I am. Holmes, we haven't seen each other in ten years. Last time I saw you, you were a boy of seventeen and I was only a girl of sixteen. You were on your way to university and I was returning to boarding school. I wrote you many letters but you never wrote back. Now I find you as a man and a changed one too. What happened to you, old friend?"

"People grow, people change," he said. "We are both different people now. You grew into an attractive young woman. I was surprised to find you here. A daughter of country squires among the salt of the earth. You say that I didn't write to you. I tell you that is not true. I wrote you many letters, but you never replied to them."

"That is very peculiar. You wrote to me and somehow I never received them. I sent you letters, but you didn't get them," I muttered very perplexed.

"Yes, that is odd. I sent them to Willow Grove. Your father said he would forward them to you."

"Your father said the same when I sent mine to North Riding. Why do I suspect that our fathers are behind this?"

"I agree. But why did they not send them on to us?"

"Perhaps we shall never know. Father was never the same after Nicholas..."

"Emma, please. Let's not discuss it. It will only upset us both."

"Yes, you are right. But the way I see it is fate has, for one reason or another, caused us to find each other again. How can you throw that away?"

"Emma." He stood and paced for a moment. "You've read Watson's stories of my cases?"

"I have. I don't agree some of the statements he makes at times, but I have read them."

"Then you know that I am distrustful of women."

"And you have come to distrust me? What have I done to deserve such treatment by you, Holmes?" He didn't answer. I knew I was gaining ground and getting closer to the heart of the problem. I stood and went to him. I placed a hand on his thin shoulder. "Holmes, I know our friendship will never be the same as it was all those years ago. Like you said, we've both changed too much. But this reunion between us has given us a chance to make our friendship better and stronger than before. But it can't happen unless we trust each other. I trust you. Can you trust me?"

He didn't answer me at first. I knew he was silently debating with himself, weighing the pros and cons of this proposal. After a length of time, he turned and said, "I do trust you, Emma. And you are right. I shouldn't let you slip through my fingers, not after we have found each other. You do understand it will be difficult for us to adapt to this."

"I know. But we can help each other through it, because that is what friends are for. To help each other and I'm sure your friend Dr. Watson will help us when we can't help each other."

"Then we should expect you at Baker Street soon?' He had said it with a smile.

"Am I correct in assuming you want me to come?"

"Yes. If I said it front of Watson, he might have jumped to the conclusion that there used to be romance that was between us."

"I see. Well, we can't have that now can we. It shall take a few days for me to pack and send my things there. But it shouldn't take much more than that. Today is Tuesday. I think Friday is when things will be in order. Until Friday, Holmes?"

"Until Friday, Emma. Good night." He took my hand and brought his lips to it.

"Good night, old friend," I said. I saw him to the door.

Dr. Watson rose from his chair and looked at Holmes. Holmes put on his hat and gloves. "Miss Emma Callaway will be joining us at Baker Street on Friday, Watson," Holmes replied nonchalantly. "We must go and inform Mrs. Hudson of her arrival." He started down the hall.

I have never seen such a look of surprise and shock. Dr. Watson seemed that he might fall over at this sudden turn about of our mutual friend. He looked at me and I waved it away. "Come along Watson!" Holmes called from the other end of the hall. Dr. Watson hurried after him. I watched them until they disappeared into the darkness.

_This should be an interesting experience to say the least_ I thought to myself. I didn't realize it then, but it was to be a more interesting experience than I anticipated.

Good? Fair? Or down right bad? Review me to let me know. No flames please.


	2. A Lesson in Humility

Hello again. Summer Skye here again with Chapter 2 of A Diamond in the Rough entitled 'A Lesson in Humility.' Since I like to get on with stories and read author's notes later, this will be quick. Thank you reviewers and please review. Thank you. (I made a rhyme!)

WATSON-

Miss Emma Callaway moved into the vacant room upstairs on Friday as arranged. She arrived that afternoon about an hour after lunch and Holmes left immediately after exchanging a quick greeting with her. I thought Holmes was being rather rude, but Miss Callaway told me to pay it no mind. Mrs. Hudson came out from the kitchen and introduced herself to Miss Callaway. The landlady took charge and showed the tenant up to her room. Two burly movers brought up Miss Callaway's trunks.

For a young woman of the time, she had few possessions; only two trunks had been brought up to her room. I knew the contents of them when I came up to welcome her to Baker Street. She was in the middle of unpacking when she admitted me to her room. She greeted me with a smile and continued her task. Aside from the usual garments that were to be expected from a woman, she had an assortment of clothes that would be worn by men and women from different classes of society. They were torn and ragged as could be. When she noticed that I had seen them, she quickly tucked them into the wardrobe in her room.

I left her to settling in shortly after that. I could see that she was completely occupied in her unpacking. I went downstairs and opened the covers of a medical journal. I could hear Miss Callaway's footsteps as she moved about her room. I also heard a beautiful voice singing from an Italian opera that had played in London, some time ago, but I have forgotten the name. I was lulled to sleep by the musical voice that wafted down from upstairs.

"Watson," Holmes' voice said, as I was shaken awake. My eyes opened and stared Holmes in the face. "Wake up, old man. It's time for tea."

I rose from my chair and realized that Miss Callaway was seated at the table. Holmes sat on her right side and she poured him a cup of tea. I took the remaining seat on her left and she handed me a cup of tea. "So Emma, I assume that you are all settled?" Holmes asked as he took a sip of tea.

"More or less. A few things to put away, but the majority of my womanly clutter, as you so charmingly put it this morning, is put away."

"Very good, very good."

Those were the first and only civil words I heard between them for those first few weeks. From then on, I heard only constant shouting and arguing. Miss Callaway had become rather irritated with Holmes' habit of staying up all night, scratching random notes on his violin, smoking without letting in any fresh air, and failure to eat at mealtime. Holmes in turn had become very annoyed with her nagging about his habits. I watched this tongue lashing, not wanting to intercede for fear of getting an earful full from the both of them. But the harsh words exchanged by the two of them was nothing to compared to the events that surrounded The King of Bohemia and Irene Adler.

It was the evening of May 20th 1887, when Miss Callaway came down to the sitting room. Holmes didn't even make a sign of noticing her presence. I gave her a simple good evening and continued with organizing my notes of the Reigate Squires. Miss Callaway simply sat on the couch and opened a book she had brought down from her room. She had barely started to read when she said, "So who is your client this evening, Holmes?"

Both Holmes and I looked at her. Her eyes didn't even look up from the pages of the book in her hands. I saw Holmes' eyes bend into a frown. From the pocket of his dressing gown, he took a piece of paper. He tossed it to her and it landed on the pages of her book. She took it and read it aloud for my benefit:

_There will call upon you tonight at a quarter to eight, a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of Europe have shown that you are own who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you from all quarters received. Be in your chamber then at the hour and do not take it amiss if your visitor wears a mask._

In reading the letter, Miss Callaway frowned with disgust as if she knew who's hand had written it. She returned the letter to Holmes. As she did so she said, "The author if the note is a man of about thirty years of age. He is a German from Bohemia with the very best education has to offer."

"How did you deduce that?" I asked.

"The gender of the author can be inferred from the writing as well as his age," Holmes began to explain. "That fact the he is from Bohemia can be deduced from the paper. It is not English paper. Hold it up to the light and tell me what you see."

I did so. "There's a large E with a small g, a P and a large G with a small t woven into the text."

"Which is?"

"Maker's monogram."

"Not at all. The G with the small t stands for Gesellschaft, which is the German for Company. The P of course stands for Papier. Now for the Eg." He took down his Continental Gazetteer and flipped through the pages. "Ah! Egria. It is a German speaking country in Bohemia, famous for its numerous glass factories and paper mills."

"The fact that the writer is a German?"

Holmes opened his mouth to say something, but Miss Callaway spoke first. "Look at the construction of the words," Miss Callaway said, her eyes still on the book. "'This account of you we have from all quarters received.' A Frenchman or a Russian could not have written that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. Would you not agree, Holmes?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

As he finished speaking the sharp sound of horseshoes reached our ears. We all went to the window and looked out it.

"Driven by a pair," Holmes whispered. "A nice little brougham. There's money in this case if nothing else." Miss Callaway gave an unladylike snort of disapproval and returned to her book. "Is something wrong, Emma?"

"You shall see," was all she said as footsteps were heard on the stairs.

The sitting room door opened and our visitor stepped in. "You had my note?" he asked in a heavy, deep, harsh German accent.

"Yes, pray take a seat," Holmes said. "This is my friend and colleague Dr. Watson and our neighbor Miss Emma Callaway. Both are gracious enough to help me with my cases from time to time."

"You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that the gentleman and the lady are your friends, but are they discrete."

"They are."

"Then I must begin by binding all three of you to silence for a period of two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon European history."

"I promise," Holmes said.

"And I."

Miss Callaway didn't say anything. She simply continued to read as if there was no one else in the room.

"Emma, did you hear the gentleman?" Holmes asked.

"I did, but I can't promise."

"And why not?"

"Because I don't wish to be a part of the case." She closed her book and stood. "Holmes, Dr. Watson, I bid you good night. And I bid good night to you Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstien and hereditary King of Bohemia." She curtsied and left the room, leaving all of us perplexed about how she knew.

EMMA-

The moment I entered my room, I rushed to my wardrobe. Shifting through it I found an oversized shirt and jacket, trousers worn at the knees and frayed at the seams, well-worn boots, and a patched cap. Removing my dress, corset and underskirts, I put these other items on. Twisting my hair up and pinning it in place, I secured the cap to my head. Taking some greasepaint, I smeared my face, neck, and hands with it to make me look sooty. I had transformed from being a respectable lady to a common chimneysweeper.

I descended the stairs quietly. I could hear the voices of the men in the sitting room. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I turned into the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson had retired for the night, so I slipped through the kitchen door and into the street. I walked down the street apiece, before hailing a cab.

"Where to?" the cabman asked when I showed him the sovereign in my hand.

"Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood," I said.

The cab took off down the street. As I rode, I thought of the affair. I had known Irene Adler for several years and I knew all about the affair with Holmes' client. I remembered when the photograph was taken, as well as the contents. I remember how the King had treated Irene. He had wronged her severely, and I had no doubt that he was telling Holmes a version, which made Irene look like a blackmailer. But I wasn't going to tell Holmes the truth of it. I felt that he should solve the case on the information he was given and afterwards I would give him a truer version of the facts. He had grown rather cocky since I last saw him and he needed a reminder of how smart women really were.

I recalled one incident when we were young; I believe I was nine, where Holmes had made an offensive remark about the intelligence of women. He seemed to think that being a year my senior gave him the right to make whatever remarks he liked about women. Even at the age of nine, I knew it was an insult to what I would someday become and I set myself up to the task of teaching him a lesson.

My opportunity came when my parents decided to take a long holiday to the Continent. My brother and I were sent to stay with the Holmes family. Holmes was the only one of four children at home. His two brothers and sister were away at school. I decided to wait a few days before making my first attempt to revenge. It was on my fourth day at North Riding, I began my business.

Holmes was untidy then as he was now. So while he was out of the manor, I tidied up his bedroom. I waited nearby until I heard the sweet shrieks that Holmes made when he discovered my work of the morning. But that was the beginning. I played very subtle tricks on him. Passing him sugar instead of salt, retuning his violin so it was badly out of tune, and other such things. But my crowning achievement was relieving him of his journal while he slept with it under his pillow. In exchange for it back, he agreed not to sneer at the ignorance of women and not to take actions against me for the tricks I played on him.

A smile came to my face as the cab pulled up to the house where Irene lived. I paid the cabbie and walked up to the door. I tugged on the bell and waited. A maid answered the door. She was about to slam the door in my face, but I stuck my foot out.

"Tell your mistress, I wish to see her," I said to her.

She did as I asked. A moment later, the figure of Irene Adler was at the door. Her eyes lit up with amusement and mirth at the sight of me. She ushered me in and directed me to the sitting room.

"I must say, Emma, that I almost didn't recognize you," she said as I sat and removed my hat. "What brings you here at such a late hour?"

I gave Irene an account of my very brief run in with the King of Bohemia. She listened carefully and sat quietly after I finished.

"I had been warned that he might hire Mr. Holmes some months ago. But I'm curious as to why you are telling me this, Emma. I remember you talk of your friend when we used to travel together. Isn't this betrayal?"

"No, it is not betrayal. This is a swift kick in the ego for Holmes. Besides, when I was first starting out as an actress, you took me under your wing. If not for you, I am convinced that I would have been dead some years ago. You helped me get over my addiction. You as well as Dr. Freud saved my life and I am indebted to you for that."

"I see. But just what do you suggest we do. Mr. Holmes is cunning."

"He is indeed." We sat for a moment in silence, trying to come up with a way to do this so that no one would get hurt.

"Ah ha!" Irene cried. "I've got it."

"What? Irene what is it?"

"Emma, I'll give you the photograph. You can hide it at Baker Street."

"While you keep up the pretense that you still have it. After this affair is over, I'll get rid of it. Throw it in the river or into the fire, perhaps I'll use some of Holmes's chemicals and destroy it that way."

"I'll write to you when we're safely away."

"We're?"

"My fiancée, Godfrey Norton and I."

"I was beginning to wonder if the two of you would ever be wed."

"Yes. We shall marry at once and get away to the continent. Will you come to the wedding?"

"It's better that I don't. Holmes will no doubt watch you and find a time that he will seize to retrieve the photograph from you."

"You are right and if he knew that you were helping me..."

"Oh don't you worry about me. He won't hurt me. He'll no doubt be quite upset at me, but he wouldn't dare strike me."

"All right. Will you stay and have some tea? We can workout details while we do so."

"Very well. Some tea would be most welcome."

I stayed for an hour or so. We discussed when I should destroy the photograph, how I should do it, and when to tell Holmes. It was determined that the day that Holmes' come to take the photograph from Irene's home should be the day that it should be destroyed. I was to burn it and make sure it was burned thoroughly. I would tell Holmes when I felt the time was right.

Before I left, Irene went to the wall panel where she kept the photograph. She handed it to me and I tucked it down my shirt. I exited through the tradesmen's entrance and made my way home.

I quietly entered 221b through the kitchen door. I removed my boots before mounting the stairs. Knowing that Holmes might still be up, I walked quietly past the sitting room door, careful to avoid the squeaking floorboard. I entered my room and closed the door carefully behind me.

I removed my disguise and changed into my nightdress. I washed the greasepaint from my face, neck, and hands. When I was clean and felt like me again, I took the photograph from its frame. I placed it behind a family photograph; my mother insisted on having done when I was twelve. When I had done so, I looked at the photograph.

I was not the prettiest girl when I was twelve. I had pockets of baby fat in my cheeks, my skin was blotchy, and my body wasn't quite sure what to do with itself. I was what my mother referred to as a late bloomer. My breasts hadn't started to grow until I was fifteen, my menstrual cycles didn't come until age fourteen, and my body was disproportionate. My legs were too long, my arms were too short, my cheeks were too puffy, and my hips were too big. I remember writing many letters to my mother about how cruel the other girls at boarding school were to me. She wrote back telling me the story of the Ugly Duckling. Reflecting on it, I had indeed become a swan. When I left boarding school, the other girls had finally accepted me into their circle.

I put the frame back in its place on my desk and made my way to bed. I crawled underneath my blankets. I rested my head against the pillows and fell deep into the arms of Morpheus.

Holmes wasn't at breakfast the next morning and Dr. Watson hounded me about what I knew of the matter. I evaded the questions and inquired about his writing instead. Dr. Watson left for his surgery directly after breakfast and I decided to help Mrs. Hudson with some of the housework.

Both men didn't return until dinner. I wasn't surprised to see Holmes dressed as a common loafer, though it shocked Dr. Watson. Holmes gave Dr. Watson and me a detailed account of his day of observing Irene Adler. As we ate dinner, Holmes and Dr. Watson made preparations to recover the photograph. I listened carefully and I knew that my time was coming. Both men left after dinner and they both returned after I had gone to bed.

The next morning, Holmes and Dr. Watson left early. After I ate my breakfast I took the photograph from it's hiding place. I looked at it, and thought of where Irene was now. _Probably in safer, better, and happier place than I am about to be in,_ I thought to myself. I placed the photograph into the fire and sat down to read, have a cup of tea, and wait.

An hour later, I heard the door open downstairs and angry footsteps on the stairs. The door of the sitting room opened like a fury.

"Where is it?!" Holmes' voice asked angrily.


	3. Shakespeare And Reconciliation

Another chapter for A Diamond In The Rough. This chapter is a bit more dramatic than the previous two. Now I know it had been awhile since my last posting, but I have been a busy little bee. I have just finished writing my first play and I'm in the editing process. (I'm sure we all know how that goes.) But now on to Chapter 3: Shakespeare and Reconciliation.

EMMA-

"Where is it?" Holmes' voice asked angrily.

I didn't acknowledge his presence or his question. I simply sat with my book and tea, enjoying every moment of Holmes' panic. The plan that Irene and I had devised seemed to have worked rather successfully.

Holmes came around and wrenched the book from my grasp, causing me to look up at his piercing gaze. I gave him one of my own. "Where is it?" he asked, again. This time his voice was a harsh whisper.

I took a sip of tea and quite calmly said, "Where is what? I haven't the slightest idea of what _it_ is? Be so kind as to clarify."

"Where is the photograph?" His voice was becoming even terser and harder than before.

"Which photograph?" I asked innocently. "The one of His Majesty and Irene Adler?"

"Emma, I know you have something to do with this. I want that photograph. Now!"

I raised my eyebrow at Holmes. He was starting to sound like my father. This annoyed me greatly. My father always had to have things done his way or not at all. He would order me around as if I were a servant instead of his daughter. These were some of the many reasons I left home.

"My how demanding we are," I said taking on the tone my mother often used with my father when he acted this way, a very carefree and light tone. "If you want the ashes of it, feel free to ask Mrs. Hudson for them."

Holmes, Dr. Watson, and the King looked into the fire. "You burned it?" Holmes asked, still looking into the fire.

"I did. It made excellent kindling." I took another sip of tea.

The men stared into the fire a few more moments. "Your Majesty is quite safe from the public knowing of the photograph," Holmes said, after long moments of silence.

"But I wonder if he is safe from other avenging angels?" I said, standing. Holmes and I looked at each other, then at the king.

"What are you talking about, Miss Callaway?" Dr. Watson asked, voicing the confusion I knew he and Holmes both shared.

_'Don't tell them you silly girl,'_ one of my inner voices said. '_Remember he is a king.'_

_'Do you want another poor woman to be seduced and then hurt by him?' _Another asked.

The latter voice proved more triumphant than the former for I summoned all of my courage and felt my legs move towards the king. I could feel my knees quake beneath me. I was frightened. I could recall his fits of rage from all those years ago, but my hatred of him drew me on. The king met my gray gaze with his dark one.

"I am curious as to which version of the events you have given Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. Was it the version where you are portrayed as the innocent victim of a woman's jealousy? For I remember it very differently."

"Emma!" Holmes cried in dismay. I felt his hand clasp my arm as if to hold me back.

I looked at his hand that held my arm. "You should know Holmes," I said softly, "that your client is nothing more than a disgusting leech praying on the love of women, before breaking their heart." I returned my gaze to the king. Ice water ran through my veins. Though I was frightened, I felt that all the women he had hurt need the truth to be know to someone besides the king and his victims of heartache. "I remember the way you used to come to the theatre in Warsaw."

"Warsaw?" Dr. Watson whispered. "You've known about the whole affair from the beginning?"

"Of course I have. I was Irene Adler's best friend. How could I not know about it? I couldn't help but notice the looks he would give her and the other girls. He used to look at us as if we were valuable cattle he wished to purchase. To him, we were nothing but play things that he could toss aside when he was bored with us."

"Madam, I haven't the slightest idea of what you speak of. Mr. Holmes, please control this woman."

"How dare you!" I said tightly. "How dare you doubt my word? Are you afraid that I speak the truth?"

"I am afraid of nothing, least of all a woman such as you."

"Then I shall continue with how I remember the events unfolding. I remember when Irene became enchanted with you. You pretended to love her, but at the drop of hat, you left her. You broke her dear little heart. As her friend, I was concerned for her life. She and I came here to London, where she met Mr. Godfrey Norton. I am glad that she is married and happy, but I am equally glad she made you sweat. You almost destroyed her life." My voice grew stronger and more confident as I spoke.

"Miss Callaway," Dr. Watson said warningly.

I ignored him. "You, sir, are the cause of so much heartache and sorrow. How many other women have been wronged by you? I know that Irene was not the first and more than likely won't be the last. How long before another wronged woman comes forward to tell her story?" I knew I was crossing into waters that I shouldn't cross, but I did not care. "How long before your future wife finds out?"

Throughout my narrative, I watched the king's face grow paler. Now he said nothing. He simply stared at me with his eyes. But I sensed something malicious in his eyes. He suddenly raised his arm. Before Holmes or Dr. Watson could stop him, he struck me across the face with the back of his hand, which had been clenched into a fist.

I spun around and found myself safely in Holmes' arms. I clung to him as tears began to sting my eyes, but I refused to cry. My face burned with the sting from the blow he had delivered me, but I had to push it aside. I searched for my voice, but I could not find it. It was Holmes who suddenly became the voice, which I had lost.

"Leave now!" he said tightly as he held me. "Leave or I will call for the police and have them arrest you for assault. How dare you strike a lady?"

"It was not a lady I struck, Mr. Holmes. It was a good for nothing whore, who needed a lesson of how to speak to her superiors." And with a swirl of his cloak, the King of Bohemia left the occupants of Baker Street, never to return, I am thankful to say.

When I heard the door close downstairs, I felt the tears stream down my cheeks. Holmes helped me to his chair and brought me a glass of water as Dr. Watson went for his medical bag. My face throbbed as a bruise began to surface. The skin around my left eye began to swell.

Dr. Watson returned with his bag and began to assess the damage done to my face. He probed my face checking for fractures. I hissed as he touched the bruises around my eye and on my cheek. He apologized and continued to probe.

"Well there is nothing broken or fractured," he said, finally. "At the very most you'll have those bruises for a few days, but that is the extent of the damage. I must say that you are very lucky."

"What do you mean, doctor?" I asked, as he moved to his bag.

"Had he used his actual fist to strike you, I don't think you would be here with us. He might have killed you, but luckily he only used the back of his hand," Dr. Watson said as he measured a dosage of painkiller for me. The painkiller was a white powder.

"I hope that it isn't cocaine, doctor," I said, nervously. Neither Holmes nor Watson knew that I had been addicted to cocaine in my early days as an actress. I had worked hard to free myself of the habit and I intended to stay free of it for the rest of my days.

"No. It is only a mild painkiller. It is quite harmless." He handed me a glass of water, which the white powder had been mixed in.

I took it and drank it. It was bitter to the taste, but I took it nonetheless.

Holmes had remained silent while Dr. Watson examined me. He simply looked at the bruise that was forming around my eye and along my cheek. I looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes were full of hurt and distrust.

"Do you not trust me again, Holmes?" I asked as Dr. Watson checked my blood pressure.

"I'm not sure that I do. Emma, why didn't you tell me about what the king was and is?"

"Would you have believed me if I had told you?" I asked, softly. "I didn't even want to be involved with this case to begin with."

"Then why didn't you say so?"

"I did say so. But the moment you took up this case, you brought me into this whole affair all over again. An affair that had long been closed."

"Until your dear friend threaten to blackmail the king."

"She did it because that poor girl needed to know what she was getting herself into by marrying that man who calls himself a king!"

"And you betrayed me by helping her!"

I stood knocking Dr. Watson's stethoscope aside. "I helped her for two reasons, Holmes. I owed her for saving my life and to re-teach you a lesson you have forgotten."

"And which lesson is that?"

"That women are not idiots. It seemed to me that you forgot the lesson I taught you seventeen years ago!"

"Women may not be idiots, but they are not to be trusted!" Holmes shouted angrily. "They are deceitful, dangerous parasites that need someone to protect them before disposing of the protection in favor of another. I'm beginning to wonder if women are truly human."

My eyes narrowed at this statement. Then I remembered a quote from the _Merchant of Venice_ by Shakespeare as said by Shylock the Jew. "Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions, fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that."

Holmes looked down his nose at me. I put my hands on my hips in an unladylike fashion, but propriety gave away to my anger. "The venom clamours of a jealous woman. Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth," he retorted

"The prince of darkness is a gentleman."

"Et tu, Brute? - Then fall, Caesar!"

My eyes widened with horror. "How dare you compare me to Brutus? I am not here to play Brutus to your Caesar."

"Then why are you here? To be the monster in my closet?"

"Women are not monsters. You men just don't want to understand us. In case you have forgotten, it was a woman who suffered pain to bring you into this world, it was a woman who cared for you when you were sick, and it was a woman who held you when you were frightened."

"Don't you dare bring my mother into this!"

"I didn't bring her into this. You did. The moment you began to slander women!" I felt the blood rush to my face. My hands clenched into tight fists. Holmes through his hands into the air in despair. He turned away from Dr. Watson and me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. A silence fell upon us. "What do you want me to do, Holmes?" I asked quietly.

Without turning back to me, he said with a tight voice, "I want you to leave."

"As you wish. I shall leave. I shall leave Baker Street, never to return. I do not know where I will go, but rest assured I will go somewhere as far away from you as humanly possible!"

I rushed past Holmes and out the sitting-room door. I slammed the door behind me as I started up the stairs to my room. When I finally entered my room, I went to my bed and sat. Taking a pillow from the head of my bed, I hugged it to my body and began to sob. Sobs turned into weeping. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore. I fell back on my bed and tucked the pillow under my head. My eyes closed and I fell into the sleep that came after a hurtful cry.

I was woken by a knock at my bedroom door. "Who is it?" I asked, with a broken voice.

"It's Mrs. Hudson, dear. I've brought you something to eat."

"Come in," I said.

Mrs. Hudson entered with a tray that was laden with a bowl of soup, a pot of tea, and two cups. She set it on the small table in my room and sat next to me. She smiled and brushed a piece of hair out of my face.

"Now why are you leaving, Miss Emma Callaway?"

"How did you know that I was going to leave?"

She smiled. "I could hear you all the way from the kitchen. Besides, Dr. Watson came down and told me. Now why are you leaving?"

"I just can't stay here anymore. It seems that Holmes and I can't have a conversation without fighting with each other. I thought that maybe I could..." I turned from her. Rising from the bed I went to the table where she had set the tray.

"That you could what?"

I traced the flower pattern on the teapot with my finger. "That I could help him find a piece of himself that he seems to have lost. But I suppose that he wants to grow into an old miser that is always crotchety and unfeeling. I suppose he never wants to experience emotions the way he used to, and that's fine. Why should I care?"

"I think you do care," Mrs. Hudson said, draping a throw rug over my shoulders. "You cared enough to come here, when I think he needed you most. You cared enough to let him know how you felt about some of the things he does to himself."

"Maybe, but I feel that he and I need to be apart for a time. Perhaps I'll return to this place one day, but not for awhile."

"Well, that's your decision, Miss Callaway. Always know that you'll have a place to stay here at 221b and you will always be welcomed."

She pulled me into an embrace. Her embrace reminded me of my mother's. It was full of warmth, love, and caring. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"You're welcome, my dear. Now we must put some roses back into your cheeks. Come and have some tea and soup."

I smiled and nodded. I sat and did as she ordered. We talked as I ate. I told her of my mother and how much she reminded me of her. She in turn said that if she had ever had a daughter, she would have wanted her to be like me.

When I finished eating, Mrs. Hudson took the tray and left me for the night. Undressed and put on my nightgown. I moved to my vanity and began picking hairpins out. When the final hairpin was taken from it's place, I took up my brush and ran it through my hair. I then began to weave my hair into its nighttime braid. As my fingers wove my hair, I could hear door shut downstairs. To my ears, it sounded like Watson and Holmes were also preparing for bed.

Tying off my braid, I looked at myself in the mirror. The bruise on my face was turning purple. "Hmm," I said to myself. "I think I'll be able to cover this up with a little stage make-up, until it heals. But that will wait until morning," I yawned.

Walking over to my bed, I pulled the covers aside and climbed in. My eyes slid shut as soon as my head touched the pillow. But I didn't realize that my sleep would be disturbed once again.

BOOM! CRASH! CRASH!

I screamed as the thunder and lightning came to earth. I hated loud noises. Things like gunshots or thunder frightened me. I had had this fear ever since I was a child, when a bolt of lightning had struck down a tree next to my nursery window when I was three.

Another thunderbolt struck and I screamed again. I bolted from my bed, took the throw rug from my bed, and went to a corner. I threw the rug over my shoulders and hugged my knees to my chest, rocking gently myself back and forth. I began to mutter incoherent words to myself. "The Lord is my sheperd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie in green pastures: he leadth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil: my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

A third strike fell to earth and I screamed for a third time.

"Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name, Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen."

There was a fourth strike and a fourth scream from me. This scream brought Holmes, Dr. Watson, and Mrs. Hudson to my room. As soon as Holmes saw me huddled in the corner, he immediately came to my side. He had known about my fear of loud noises for many years and knew the cause of my fear.

Another clap of thunder struck and I jumped into his arms. I clutched his nightshirt and buried my face in his chest. I was shaking all over. Holmes was startled for a moment, but then put his arms around me in order to comfort me.

"Make it stop!" I pleaded. Tears fell from my eyes and onto his nightshirt. "I'm so frightened."

"Hush Emma," Holmes whispered. "You don't need to be frightened anymore. You're safe now."

He was right. For some reason, I felt safe in his arms. It felt like I was supposed to be here. Him holding me in his arms felt so right. My heart pounded within my chest, either from the storm or because of him.

I cringed as another strike fell. "What is wrong with Miss Callaway?" I heard Watson ask Holmes.

"She's afraid of storms like this. She had been ever since we were children," Holmes responded smoothing his hand over my hair. "Come Emma, let's go downstairs."

"Very well," I whispered.

Holmes helped me down the stairs. I stumbled on the stairs and fell against him. To my surprise, he blushed, and then helped me up. Once in the sitting room, I sat on the couch.

"Now let us see if I have anything that will settle your nerves," Dr. Watson said going for his bag.

"That's not necessary, my good doctor," I said, before he touched his bag. "I'm sure if I have a glass of water I shall be fine."

Mrs. Hudson went to the carafe on the sideboard and poured me a glass of water. I took it from her and drank. The water in the glass made little waves as my hand shook.

Holmes sat next to me on the couch and took my free shaky hand into his. "Why don't you both go back to bed," he said to Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson. "I'll stay with her until she calms down."

"Are you sure, Holmes?" Dr. Watson asked. Holmes nodded. "Very well, if you need us call out."

"Good night, Watson. Good night, Mrs. Hudson," he said.

"Good night, Holmes."

"Good night, Mr. Holmes."

Both Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson went back to their beds, leaving Holmes and I alone. We sat in silence for a while. Then in spite of myself I giggled. "It's funny," I said.

"What is?" Holmes asked.

"I don't feel frightened anymore. When I was a child, I would have climbed into bed with my parents and cried all night. When I was an actress, all alone, and a storm like this would hit, I would hug my pillows and cry into the darkness. But now I don't feel that way."

He simply bobbed his head in agreement. Another silence fell upon us. I took a sip of water. I had noticed that Holmes still held my hand.

"Emma," he said breaking the uneasy silence. "I wish to apologize for some of the things I said earlier. It was conduct unbecoming of a gentleman. I hope that you will forgive me."

"I never thought I'd live to see the day that William Sherlock Scott Holmes would ask for my forgiveness. Even as a boy, you were quite prideful."

He smiled at my statement. "I know. Watson never included pride amongst his list of my shortcomings."

"He didn't know you then. Besides everyone has pride about something."

"You with your music for instance. A pity we don't have a piano here at Baker Street. Yes one thing I will miss when you leave is your singing."

I shifted slightly. "I don't have to leave, you know."

"As I recall you wanted to get as far from me as humanly possible."

I smiled and squeezed his hand. "Harsh words were spoken on both sides. You asked me for my forgiveness. I forgive you."

"You'll stay then?"

"I'll stay only if you forgive me in turn."

"For what? Emma you weren't in the wrong. I was. I did something to provoke you into taking the actions you did."

"But I said some things that I regret now. Will you forgive me?"

"If you feel you need my forgiveness, Emma Amelia Grace Callaway, then you have it. I forgive you."

I was surprised that he had used my full Christian name; on the other hand I had never called him by his own Christian name before. I leaned closer to him and kissed his cheek, in a sisterly manner. He cleared his throat and blushed profusely. I smiled and took another sip of water.

"Well, I feel better now. I'm going to try and finish the night's worth of sleep. Good night, Holmes." I put my glass of water down and stood. Holmes followed me and opened the sitting-room door for me.

"Good night, Emma." I turned to walk to the stairs. I was about to start up the stairs, but Holmes' voice stopped me. "Emma, wait a moment."

I turned back to him. He came to the stair below the one I stood on. I could stand level to his eyes. He took my hand and brought it to his lips. As he did this, my heart beat madly in my chest. His eyes were always looking into mine as he kissed my hand. In his eyes, I saw a burning fire. A fire of what, though?

"Thank you for staying," he whispered, taking his lips from my hand. "I would be a fool to allow you to leave. Emma, in future, will you tell me if my case is missing a piece of a story that you can provide?"

"Only if you promise to consider what I have to say as important."

"I swear it. Emma, I'd like to involve you in my cases. I have been recently taught that one should never doubt a woman's word."

I laughed. "Very well, but I reserve the right not to involve myself in cases as I see fit. Agreed?"

"Agreed. Good night, my friend." He squeezed my hand and went to the hallway entrance of his room.

I watched him disappear into the darkness of his room, before going back to my own room. As I drifted off to sleep, I could see his face in my mind's eye. When I woke the next morning, I couldn't stop thinking about him. The very sight of him began to send shivers down my spine. Was this what it's like falling in love?

Whew! That was a long one and no mistaking it. Please review. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to soak my tired, cramped up fingers in some hot water with lavender oil.


	4. A Barroom Brawl

After getting comments that I was rushing things a bit, I have decided to write this filler chapter. It takes place between chapters 3 and 4. I hope that you enjoy it.

-EMMA-

I had been at Baker Street for about six months. Watson was no longer living at Baker Street with Holmes and me. He had met and married Mary Morstan, who had come to Holmes with a mystery. Watson has titled the account _The Sign of Four_. I had little to do with the case, in fact the only role I played in the affair was being Mary's attendant at the wedding.

Since the affair involving Irene Adler, I had not been involved with another of Holmes' cases, though I had been introduced to his organization. All of the Irregulars knew and respected me. If Holmes wasn't in, they were instructed to report to me and I would inform him. I also became well acquainted with many of the inspectors at Scotland Yard. Inspector Lestrade was a familiar face at Baker Street, as were those of Inspector Jones, and Inspector Gregson. The inspectors were always careful about the way they spoke around me, which caused me great annoyance. Having been an actress for nearly ten years, I had heard just about every colorful word and had seen horror just about every occurred on the streets that mankind could possible have known.

My now-famous friend was constantly coming and going. It seemed as if everyday he had a client of one kind or another. Sometimes Holmes would leave very early in the morning and not return until very late at night. It worried Mrs. Hudson and me very much when he did this. We both knew he took no regard for his personal safety. We pleaded with him to go armed when he went out on these excursions, and eventually he agreed. I don't think he agreed to in order to ease our worries. He agreed so we would stop bothering him about it. Though he did find ways of getting the better of Mrs. Hudson and me.

Holmes loved to try and trick us with his disguises. He wouldn't trick me very often, but he would send Mrs. Hudson into a fit of surprise. I would chide him for it later, but he would just smile and shrug his shoulders. Although there was once that he needed the help of me and an old friend of mine.

One day late in September, I was stretched out on the couch, with a book open upon my knees. Holmes was in his room, rummaging about his drawers. Occasionally I would hear him growl in frustration: I would just shake my head and continue reading.

His bedroom door finally burst open causing me to sit up in surprise. Holmes came out dressed in a woman's dress and white powder in his hair.

"Holmes, what in God's name are you wearing?" I asked when my breathing returned to normal.

"It is a disguise. Albeit, one that I am having much trouble with."

"How so?"

"I can't get the make-up right. I know what is required to achieve the allusion, but I can't reproduce it."

"What are you trying to achieve?"

"The guise of an old woman."

"Well, I have never been asked to play an old woman. I've always played young women or boys," His face fell in disappointment, "but I do know someone who has?"

"Who?"

"His name is Nigel Green. He has played many female roles. He'll know. Come. Take that dress off and get your coat."

I marked my place in my book and walked out of the sitting room. I went to my room retrieved my coat, gloves, and hat, and when I came back downstairs, Holmes was ready.

"Who is this Nigel Green?" Holmes asked as we rolled to the Savoy in a cab.

"He's an old friend from my acting days. We traveled around and have done a number of shows together. He knows more about make-up and costuming than I do. He's the one who taught me all I know about changing my appearance."

"He will be discreet about the whole business?"

"You and your pride, Sherlock Holmes," I said, very annoyed. "Yes, Nigel will be discreet. He's kept bigger secrets than this. Ah here we are." We had reached the stage entrance of the Savoy. "Pull up here driver!"

At the stage entrance was Vincent. He was one of the stagehands at the Savoy. He was a man that was by no means attractive; though he thought himself the most handsome man that God ever did create. He reminded me of a Neanderthal with his protruding brow ridge and heavy jaw. His back was in a permanent bend on account of his potbelly, making his look even more primitive. His blond hair was matted and unkempt.

"Well, 'ello Miss Carmichael," he said when he saw me. "Come back to see me, eh."

He was drunk. I could smell the whiskey on his breath and on his clothes. Of course Vincent was hardly ever sober. He would shamelessly flirt with the girls in the company, especially me. He had a certain liking for redheads. He tried to kiss me once, but he left me alone after I knocked out one of his teeth.

"No, Vincent," I replied, coldly. "I've come to see Nigel. Is he around?"

"I don't know," Vincent said, taking a sip from his hip flask. "Maybe 'e is. Maybe 'e isn't." I had already lost my patience with Vincent. I snatched the flask from his hand and tipped it upside down. The whiskey issued from the flask. "Alroight! 'E be on the stage working on 'is silly music!" he cried in horror.

"Thank you," I pushed the flask back into his grubby hands and marched past him. Holmes was right behind me.

"Another old friend?" he asked, sarcastically.

"You might say that." The sound of a piano came from the direction of the stage. "That would be Nigel working on his symphony."

"Your friend is a composer?"

"An amateur composer if you will. It is more of a hobby to him. He writes it when he is not rehearsing."

We walked out onto the stage. It was empty except for the piano and a figure sitting at it with his back to us. This was Nigel. He was scribbling something onto a page. Putting down the pencil he began to play a lively melody. It was beautiful until he hit a harsh note and grunted in frustration.

"Try an E flat," I suggested.

Nigel turned around. His brown eyes lit up with pleasure. He smoothed his tussled brown hair and stood. He walked over to us.

"Adeline Carmichael," he said embracing me. "Or is it Emma Callaway now?"

"It is Emma now, Nigel."

"Either way it is still good to see you. Who's your friend?"

"Mr. Nigel Green, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Nigel shook hands with Holmes. "Oh, the Great Detective hath come down to mingle with us lowly simpletons," Nigel said with mock awe.

"Nigel," I said sternly.

"You are Emma's childhood friend, so I understand. She's told me all about you and your arrogance."

"I haven't had the same pleasure," Holmes replied with contempt in his voice. "Nigel Green isn't your real name is it?"

Nigel was horror-stricken. "You know me then?"

"No. You watch chain has a plate with initials MW engraved up it."

"Well then. My real name is Winters--Michael Winters. I prefer Nigel Green, however. Now Emma what did you say about using an E flat."

Before I could answer, Holmes interjected. "Emma, I'd like to make this interview as short as possible. I have other business to attend to besides this."

"Very well," I said. "Nigel, we've come to you to ask you expertise."

"I'm all ears."

"To be perfectly frank, can you make my friend here look like an old woman?"

Nigel looked at Holmes up and down for a moment or two. "What class of society to you want to appear to be from?" he asked Holmes.

It was Holmes' turn to think. "Middle," he said at last.

"Age?"

"Between sixty and seventy."

"Grandmotherly or frumpy?"

"Grandmotherly and trusting."

"Widow or no?"

"Widow."

"I think I know what to do. Come along you two."

We soon found ourselves in Nigel's dressing room. Holmes and I sat on Nigel's couch while Nigel rummaged through his drawers, muttering to himself. He would occasionally throw something out for me to hold.

"Mr. Holmes if you could sit at the dressing table," Nigel said. "Emma will you get the white wig from the shelf."

I took the wig in question from the shelf and the transformation began.

Holmes sat still as Nigel and I worked theatrical magic on his face. Over the course of an hour, Nigel molded my friend's face from a man in his late twenties to that an old woman in her early seventies.

"Well what do you think, Mr. Holmes?" Nigel asked.

Holmes looked into the mirror. "Amazing," Holmes said. "Truly amazing. Mr. Green you are a wizard."

"The magic doesn't end there, Holmes," I said. "You look like a grandmother. But we've still got work to do."

"What do your mean?"

"Well you need a dress--try this one."

I handed Holmes a black mourning dress from Nigel's wardrobe. The dress fit Holmes perfectly. I threw a knit shawl over shoulders and gave him a cane.

"Come along," I said, walking out of Nigel's dressing room.

Holmes and Nigel followed me out into the hall. "Now Holmes, how does an old woman walk?"

"Well..."

"No, don't tell me. Show me."

Holmes hunched over, kept his head bent down and leaned heavily upon the cane as he shuffled slowly down the hall and back. I shook my head.

"No, no. Holmes any respectable lady would have her head held up. Her shoulders would be back. Think about how your grandmother used to walk. Watch me." I shuffled down the hall with my head up and shoulders back, but still slightly hunched over. I leaned on the cane, but not as heavily as Holmes did.

We spent another hour on movement and another hour on voice. We soon had Holmes walking, talking, and acting like a grandmotherly old woman. I had never been so proud of a pupil of mine. He learned faster than many I had taught to sing.

"I am grateful to you both for assisting me with this disguise," Holmes said. "Mr. Green, my most sincere apologies for my manner towards you earlier."

"And I hope you'll forgive my manners. Mr. Holmes, perhaps you and Emma would like to join me and the company down at the Irish Rose tomorrow night."

"The Irish Rose?"

"It's a public house," I explained. "Many of us from the theatre would perform there to earn another shilling or two. It's just down the street."

"What sorts of performing?"

"Singing, dancing, playing instruments. Perfectly harmless fun. I have been down to the Rose since I left the theatre."

"We will see," Holmes said. "Emma could I have a word with you?" Holmes led me to a quiet corner. "Emma, did you just start off as an actress or were you something else before you became an actress?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because the way you instructed led me to believe that you were a teacher of some kind."

"Well I was. I used to give singing lessons. A few of my pupils were young opera singers wanting to improve their skills. One of them asked me to come down the theatre in order to hear her sing. When she made a mistake, I would sing it correctly for her and she would mimic me. I caught the attention of the director and he asked me to join. It seemed to be the wisest course for me at the time. Holmes why are you being so secretive? Nigel knows that I used to give singing lessons. Nigel knows just about as much about me as you do."

"Emma, sometimes I worry about you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I worry sometimes about your reputation. Being an actress and living under the same roof as an unmarried man..."

"Who happens to be my oldest friend? Holmes, I appreciate your concern, but if I cared about what people think I never would have left home."

"But what about this Nigel Green?"

"You think he'll try and blackmail me? Holmes I assure you, Nigel wouldn't do that, not if he wanted his own secret brought to light. I trust him, Holmes."

"Very well. If you trust him, there is nothing more to say. Mr. Green!"

Nigel came over to us. "You bellowed, Mr. Holmes?"

"Would you be so kind as to escort Emma back to Baker Street? I must be off."

"Holmes, where are you going?" I called as he shuffled away.

Holmes turned around. "My dear Emma. The game is afoot."

"What does he mean by quoting Shakespeare's Henry the VIII?" Nigel asked as we watched him shuffle away.

"It means he is off the solve another mystery and he is quoting Shakespeare's Henry the V."

"I stand corrected. Well we should get you home."

Holmes didn't return until after midnight. He regaled me with the finer points of a case of forgery over breakfast. I listened carefully to him and congratulated him on his success. After breakfast, Holmes retreated to his bedroom to get some more sleep, while I cleaned up the breakfast dishes.

Evening rolled around and I began to wonder if Holmes was going to come with me to the Rose. I had such fun when I was there, singing with my friends and dancing to a merry jig. I decided to go and ask him if he would care to join me.

-HOLMES-

"Come in," I said, looking into my mirror to adjust my workman's suspenders.

Emma walked into my room. Her eyes fell upon me and I caught a hint of disappointment in them. "Going out again, Holmes?" she asked.

"Yes and so are you. Though your attire is a little to fashionable for the Irish Rose Public House."

"You mean you're going?" Her eyes twinkled with merriment and delight. "You're actually going?"

"I've been. I went there last night after my other business had concluded. A charming little establishment. Now go change your clothes and we'll be off."

Emma smiled and immediately went to change. She came running down the stairs a few minutes later dressed in a simply cotton dress, an apron, and knit shawl. Her hair was braided in a single braid, which end at about her waist.

"Perhaps you should bring your violin," she suggested. "We are always indeed of a good fiddler."

Bring my Stradivarius? Absolutely not. "I think not. I'm sure that there is one already there."

"And you'll play us a wee chantey?" she asked dropping into an Irish accent.

"We'll see, me dear. We'll see," I answered.

"Welcome friends," Mr. Green said when Emma and I walked into the Irish Rose. "I'm glad that you've both come."

"We hope to have an enjoyable evening, Mr. Green," I said quietly. "Would you be so kind to introduce me as William Escott?"

"Of course, Mr. Escott. I want you and Adeline to meet someone. Edith!" Mr. Green called to a woman. The woman was not much taller than Emma. She had black hair and brown eyes. Mr. Green put his arm around the woman's shoulders. "My friends allow me to introduce Miss Edith Hawkins. Edith, these are my friends Miss Adeline Carmichael and Mr. William Escott."

"A pleasure, Miss Carmichael, Mr. Escott," Miss Hawkins said. Her voice had all but lost its Scottish tinge. "Nigel has mentioned you to me Miss Carmichael. He says that you have a remarkable talent for singing."

"I used to sing in the opera for a few years. Though, I wouldn't call my talents remarkable."

"Now don't be so modest, Adeline," Mr. Green said.

"But Miss Hawkins, how do you know Nigel?"

"Nigel and I met at the theatre. I'm originally from Edinburgh. I came down to London in May. I found work at the Savoy theatre."

"And she soon fell in the company's ranks," Mr. Green stated.

"She took my position in the company?" Emma asked.

"Yes," Mr. Green said sheepishly.

"But from all accounts, I have a long way to go before I can fill your shoes, Miss Carmichael," Miss Hawkins replied in order aleveate Mr. Green's embarrassment.

"Nonsense. I want to hear you sing," Emma said cheerfully. "Nigel will you play something."

Emma and I found seats at a table near the piano that was in the corner. Mr. Green took his seat at the piano, while Miss Hawkins stood next to it. Her voice might be considered lovely, but it couldn't compare to Emma's.

"Miss Hawkins, I think with a bit more practice you could go far in the operatic world," Emma remarked when Miss Hawkins finished singing.

"Thank you, Miss Carmichael." The clock struck 10 o'clock. "Oh dear me! I best be getting home. I have to be at the theatre early tomorrow morning."

"I'll take you home," Mr. Green said. "It was good to see you, Adeline and you to Mr. Escott."

Mr. Green and Miss Hawkins bade goodnight to the company and walked out of the door. Emma and I sat alone at a table listening to a fiddler. People around us danced and sang along. Even Emma and I joined in. She sang a few drinking songs and traditional songs. I took up a fiddle and became engaged in a competition with the other fiddler. The company judged that I was the winner of this unofficial competition.

"You did well. I didn't think you were interested in fiddle tunes," Emma replied as I resumed my seat across from her. She pushed a pint of ale toward me. I smiled as I drank.

"Oy!" a gruff voice said from behind me.

I lowered my tankard and turned around. The fiddler I had beaten was behind me with two large men. I instinctive stood and put myself in front of Emma.

"Can I help you sir?" I asked politely.

"You bloody cheater!"

"I beg your pardon?"

The fiddler grabbed me by the shirt and pulled my face close to his. "You 'eard me," he whispered.

He pushed me and I fell back on the table. The tankards on the table fell to the floor. Emma stood from her chair in order to help me.

"That's roight. 'Ave your 'ore 'elp you," the fiddler said.

I got to my feet and looked the fiddler in the eye. I felt my blood boil with anger. It was one thing to insult me, but insulting Emma was unforgivable. "Sir, you may insult me as much as you wish. But when you insult a lady in my presence, you can be sure that I will defend her."

A hand touched my shoulder. It was Emma's. "William, please don't do this," she whispered in my ear.

I turned my head to face her. "Your honor has been insulted."

"Do you think I care about that? Please don't fight. I don't to see you get hurt and..." She looked over my shoulder and her eyes widened. "LOOK OUT!"

I turned. The fiddler had grabbed a tankard of beer from a nearby table and proceeded to throw it at me. I pulled Emma to the floor. The beer showered three men that were at the table behind us.

A big burly man rose from the table. "Who threw that?" he demanded.

The fiddler held the tankard in his hand. The big man pulled his arm back and sent the fiddler across the room with a right hook. The fiddler hit another group of men. The men soon joined in the fray. I pushed Emma under a table as an unknown man lifted my jacket up with me in it.

I remember very little of what happened after that. My first memory of the fight was when I was sent to the floor by a straight left. Emma came out from under the table and helped me out of the pub, just as the constables came running down the street. Emma pushed me into an alley and waited until the constables went by.

"I can't believe you put yourself in harm's way just to protect my honor," Emma said as she cleaned the cuts I had received on my head and hands.

"Any gentleman might have done so," I said.

"I don't think they would have," she commented, dabbing a piece of cotton with iodine on my cut. I hissed as the iodine worked its way into the cut. "Sorry."

"Why don't you think that a gentleman would have defended you?"

"For most of my adult life I have been called a whore, a tart, a harlot, and any other vulgar name that could be thought of. I don't think that many gentlemen, or men for that matter, have thought I was a lady."

A drop fell on my head as Emma took the cotton away. I wiped the drop away and found it to be blood. I looked at Emma and saw blood drop from her hand.

"Emma, you're injured."

She looked at her hand. There was a gash on her palm. "I must have cut myself on some glass."

"Let me have a look."

Emma sat in the chair I had been sitting in. I washed the blood from the wound and assessed the extent of her injury. It wasn't a deep wound, but it wasn't a scratch. I began to clean the wound with iodine. Emma pulled her hand way and hissed as the iodine came into contact with her wound.

"I'm sorry. But I need to clean the wound."

She looked at me through her smoky gray gaze. I had never noticed that her eyes were such a smoky color. The look she had made me not want to cause her pain. It was odd. Over the last six months Emma had been bearing on my mind. When I wasn't working on a case, I seemed to be thinking of her. I would hear humming as she went about her housework with Mrs. Hudson. Sometimes I would walk into my room and I would smell her scent from when she came in to make my bed and tidy up a bit. I would tell her to leave my possessions alone, but I secretly wished she wouldn't listen, just so, I could to get a hint of her scent.

She bit her lip and extended her hand out to me. I gently took her hand again. Her skin was soft and warm. She hissed again as I continued to clean and dress her wound. As I tied a bandage around her wound, her hand curled around mine as I tied the knot. I looked at her hand around mine. I took her hand and kissed it.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"You are most welcome."

"I'll see you in the morning," she replied rising from the chair.

Her cheeks were flushed. She brushed past me and out of the sitting room. I listened to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. Only when I heard her door close did I myself retire. As my head touched my pillow, I caught the scent of lavender soap, Emma's scent.


	5. The Seven Percent Problem

Well, here we are again with another chapter for A Diamond in the Rough. I know I haven't updated in awhile, but I've been busy with other projects.

This chapter is called The Doctor Is In, for lack of a better title. This chapter is guaranteed to be the longest one so far. I can hear my keyboard groaning already.

I had a request from a reviewer to have Emma solve a mystery. Well here you go, but we shall see if she's as good as the Great Detective. Though only preliminaries are featured in this chapter. Actual solving the mystery will take place in the next chapter.

Lady and Gentleman Reviewers: I have gotten reviews that say some things need to be fixed, but don't say what. I have picked my story apart, had friends and family read it and still don't know what is wrong. If you feel that something needs working on, please be specific about what needs to be fixed. I can't fix it if I don't know what needs fixing.

A note: Some of the terms in this chapter such as "Herr Doctor So and so" or "Baron von so and so" are terms of respect among the German-speaking people.

Now having said my piece, on with the story.

EMMA-

"Damnation!"

I smiled as I washed the dinner dishes. Holmes had obviously discovered the results of my tiding the sitting room. Holmes had just returned to Baker Street from a case in Devonshire. I believe the account of that case is told in Watson's story_ The Hound of the Baskervilles_. My evening meal had long been concluded when Holmes arrived.

Mrs. Hudson had gone to Scotland to visit her sister shortly after Holmes took up the Baskerville case; therefore I cooked and cleaned for myself. I did, however, have help when I decided to tackle the laundry. Sweet Mary Watson often came to visit me while Holmes and Watson were in Devonshire. She had become a close friend to me, ever since I met her the previous year, when she had come to Holmes.

As I dried the final dish, the sound of angry footsteps on the stairs reached my ears. When I looked up from my kitchen work, I found Holmes standing in the kitchen door way. Though his face was calm, I knew that he was put out about the cleaning I had done the day before.

"Emma," he said, casually as if nothing was wrong. "You didn't by chance tidy up the sitting room while I was away, did you?"

"Yes," I answered, putting the dishes away. "The layer of dust in there was so thick that I was having trouble breathing."

"Did you touch my desk?"

"Of course I did. A great majority of the dust had accumulated there. I simply ran a damp cloth over it."

"I don't recall asking you to clean my desk. In fact, I explicitly said that my desk was not to be touched!" By now he had raised his voice.

Drying my hands on my apron, I stared him in the eye. "Well, I'm sorry that I went against your wishes Holmes. However, my health took precedence." I pushed passed him and made my way to the cellar.

"Your health?" Holmes asked, following me to the cellar. He had lowered his voice and whatever he was going to say about my cleaning had been brushed aside in his mind. I could feel that he was concerned about my well-being. "Emma if you are ill, you should be in bed resting, not doing housework."

"I'm not ill, Holmes."

"Then what does your health have to do with the amount of dust on my desk?"

"My bout with pneumonia when I was eight left my lungs scarred. I've become an asthmatic, Holmes. Dust, pollen, and the like cause me to cough severely. When I cough, I cannot breathe properly. Why do you think I ask you to open a window when you smoke heavily?"

Holmes stood in silence as I rummaged among the jars of preserves that were stored in the cellar. Finding the one I needed on an upper shelf, I stood on my toes to reach it. Unfortunately it was out of my reach. Holmes must have seen my problem, because he reached up and took down the jar.

"Why didn't you tell me about your condition?" he asked handing me the jar.

"Holmes, you make it sound like I'm dying. I didn't tell you, because it was none of your business. It is between me and Watson."

"Watson knows about this?"

"Yes, of course he does. For God's sake Holmes, the man is my doctor now." I turned to go back upstairs leaving Holmes in the cellar.

I heard the cellar door close and Holmes' footsteps coming towards the kitchen as began to sweep the floors. When looked over my shoulder at him, he was leaning against the counter next to the sink.

"Emma, what can I do to help you?" he asked after watching me for several moments.

"What do you mean?" I asked, sweeping the dirt out into the street, just outside the kitchen door.

"What needs to be done so that breathing isn't such a challenge for you while you live here?"

I stopped sweeping and looked at him. His eyes had softened from the hard ones that he had presented to me earlier. I could see he genuinely wanted to help me breathe as easily as I possible could.

"Well, allowing your desk to be dusted from time to time would help."

"I suppose that would be agreeable," he said. He came forward and took the broom from my hands. Taking my hands in his, he brought his face closer to mine. "Emma, it may not seem that I care about you. But I do. Please promise me that next time your health is compromised in one way another that you will tell me."

I could feel my heart quicken as he spoke. Over the course of the year I had spent at Baker Street, my love for him had grown. However, being a lady, I said nothing about it to him or anyone. I could never hope for him to return my feeling for him. To him our relationship was and would always been one of friendship and comradeship. With his face so close to mine, I wanted to tell him of my feelings and leave it in the hands of fate.

But I swallowed my urge to tell him how much I loved him. "I promise," I said.

He nodded and drew away from me. "Is there anything to eat?" he asked. "I haven't eaten since this morning."

"I had a feeling that would be the case," I said putting the broom back in its place. Going to the oven, I opened the door. From the oven, I removed a dish. "I made this up for you." I put it on the kitchen table. Holmes immediately drew near the food as a horse draws to water. He began to eat as I closed the door of the oven.

As the oven door shut, my hand came into contact with the hot cast iron. I hissed with pain, which caught Holmes' attention. "Emma, are you all right?"

"It's nothing serious. Just a little burn." I went to the sink and ran my hand under some cold water.

After a few moments of soaking it in cold water, I examined my hand. There was a small red mark on the back of my hand. It didn't cause me any discomfort so sat in the chair across from Holmes at the kitchen table.

"Emma, this is superb. I must say that I'm surprised that you can cook. After all not many women with the kind of privileged upbringing you had, have even gone near a kitchen."

I laughed. It was true. Being the only daughter of wealthy parents in Yorkshire, I was never expected to lift a finger. But when I left home, Mrs. Cunningham, the cook at my family home, had given me a box full of recipes that I loved. She had taught me the basics of cooking before I left for boarding school.

"Well," I said. "Not many women with the kind of privileged upbringing I had had a cook like Mrs. Cunningham."

"Very true. Wonderful woman. She always had something ready for us to eat when we were young. Is she still at Willow Grove?"

"Oh yes. I don't think she'd leave that place, not until her dying day. Beside, Mother wouldn't have her leave for anything in the world."

Holmes and I talked in the kitchen until well past midnight. He told me about the affair at Baskerville Hall and its fatally ending. It was a story that made me shudder with fright. I informed Holmes of events that had taken place at Baker Street while he was away. I didn't realize at the time that I would come close to losing the man I loved. But it wouldn't be at the hands of an enemy of flesh and blood that I would almost lose him to.

Several months went by since the Baskerville case. It was late October of 1888 if I remember it correctly. I was returning to Baker Street after spending the day at the London Library. I spent every Wednesday at the library and this Wednesday was no exception.

Upon entering the sitting room, I found Holmes not to be there. It didn't alarm me at all. Holmes had received a client while I was out and had gone to investigate another murder that would add to his ever-growing collection of cases. I sat in Watson's old chair and picked up my copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ that I had left open on the arm of the chair.

Glass falling to floor brought me out of the world of Elizabeth Bennett and back into my own. No one was in the room with me and it didn't come from the kitchen. Putting my book down, I went to the closed door of Holmes' bedroom. I knocked on the door, but no reply.

"Holmes," I said, knocking again. "Holmes." Still no answer. I tried the doorknob and found it locked. Kneeling down, I peaked through the keyhole.

I saw Holmes lying on his bed, appearing to be asleep. But when I was an empty vial and a syringe, I knew what was a foot and it worried me. I knew that that vial had been full this morning when I had left. He had injected himself with the entire bottle while I was away.

I took my eye from the keyhole and rushed downstairs. I took my hat and gloves from the hat stand by the door and hailed a cab. Giving the cabman the address to Watson's home in Kensington, I climbed in.

I felt an ever-growing fear come upon me as I rode to Kensington. I had known about Holmes' addiction ever since I came to Baker Street. But I didn't know how bad it had become until today. I felt fairly sure that if I didn't intervene, he would be dead within a year.

Seeing Holmes lying prostrate on his bed that way reminded me of my own addiction to the narcotic. If Irene hadn't intervened on my behalf, I would be lying in my grave instead of driving to Kensington to save the life of another.

The cab stopped in front of the Watson's home. I paid the cabman and rang the bell. Rose the maid opened the door.

"Rose, are Dr. and Mrs. Watson at home?" I asked, trying to retain my calmness, but it was disappearing with every minute.

"Yes, Miss Callaway. They've just finished dinner. They'll be in the drawing room, now."

She opened the door wider to allow me in. She took my hat and gloves before leading me to the drawing room.

Watson and Mary were sitting and talking when I entered. The moment they saw me, they knew something was wrong. It was not a sociable hour to call, and Holmes didn't need Watson for a case. Watson came forward and guided me to a seat.

"Emma, what on earth is it? You're as white as a sheet," Mary said, handing me a glass of water.

"It's Holmes. Watson, we have to do something once and for all about his addiction to cocaine."

"Emma," Watson said, sitting across from me. "I agree something has to be done, but you know Holmes. He won't even admit he has an addiction."

"Yes, I know. But if we don't do something, we are going to lose him. Watson, he has taken an entire bottle of the seven percent solution. It was full this morning when I left and it was all gone when I came home."

"Gone?"

"Yes, all of it. He's never taken some much at one time that I know of."

Watson was silent for a moment. "Suppose we somehow managed to persuade Holmes to give up cocaine, who would help us medically. I don't have the qualifications, I'm only a general practitioner."

"I know of a doctor in Vienna. He's the only one who can help us."

"Who is he? And how would you know of him?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Even though Watson was my doctor, I hadn't told him of my past addiction to cocaine. It was a personal shame to me and I didn't speak of it anymore than necessary. But now for Holmes' sake I had to.

I took a deep breath. "His name is Dr. Sigmund Freud. I know of him because I am a former patient of his. He treated me for my own cocaine addiction nearly four years ago."

I had never seen Watson and Mary so shocked. Mary was so shocked that she had to sit down lest she fall over. Both were silent for long moments. I looked down into my glass of water, so that they would not see the look of shame on my face. I knew it would have to come out sooner or later, and Holmes' needed Dr. Freud's assistance.

"Emma," Watson's voice caused me to look up. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it was not affecting my health any longer. I was treated and released. I don't like to speak of it and it is never to come up again after Holmes recovers from his own addiction."

"As you wish." I could see that he would try and get more out of me later, but there was a more pressing issue at hand. "How do you propose we get him to Vienna and to Freud? He won't go of his own accord."

"I had thought of that. But I don't know how. Anything we try and think up, he'll see right through. If only I didn't know his mind as well as my own."

"Well who is his superior in intellect?" Mary asked.

"No one I know of," Watson replied.

Mycroft. That was the answer. Mycroft Holmes. "Oh Watson," I said, innocently. "What about Mycroft?"

"Mycroft?"

"Yes. Even Holmes acknowledges that his brother is his intellectual superior. If anyone can devise a way to get Holmes to Vienna, it would be Mycroft."

"You're right. Do you suppose Mycroft is still at the Diogenes Club?" he asked, checking the time on his pocket watch.

"It's only a quarter after seven. He is most defiantly there."

"Am I to bring him here?"

"Yes, but it will be somewhat difficult. He doesn't like being detoured from his route."

"Then what am I to tell him?"

I thought for a moment. Even when we were younger, Mycroft Holmes had lines and he ran on them, just as he did today. But I knew that for all of his coldness, Mycroft had a heart and would do what he could to help his brother.

"Tell Mycroft that William needs him," I said finally. I had a feeling that by using Holmes' true Christian name would get Mycroft here with all speed.

"William?"

"Trust me, Watson. It will get his attention."

Watson left for the Diogenes and I could do was wait and see if Mycroft would come. While I waited, Mary did her best to comfort me. Rose brought us some tea, which did settle my nerves some.

Twenty minutes later, the front door opened. Mary and I stood as Mycroft Holmes entered the room. I had never been so happy to see Mycroft in all of my life.

"Now Emma," he said, coming to the point. "What is going on? I do not like altering my habits without a good reason."

"Mycroft, I'm afraid that Holmes' life is in even more danger than usual. If we don't act, he will be dead within a year or so."

"Hmm. I assume you are referring to his cocaine stimulation."

"Quite so. He is consuming it at such a rate, that it may be impossible to cast him free of its shackles. But there is a doctor in Vienna that could help us, but we need to act now."

"But, you don't how to get Sherlock there without him smelling a trap."

"Precisely. If Watson or I came up with a plan, he'd know and refuse to go. If you devised a plan, then it has a chance of succeeding."

Mycroft sat back in the chair he had drawn closer to the fire. His eyes were close with deep thought. He steepled his fingertips, the way I so often had seen Holmes do when he was thinking. Again I waited.

After a few minutes, Mycroft opened his eyes and said, "I have a plan. It will require the cooperation of all of you."

"Of course. What is your plan, Mycroft?" I asked anxiously.

"Emma, you need to relapse and start taking cocaine again."

My eyes widened with horror. I had worked hard to stay away from the narcotic and now Mycroft was asking me to go back to it. But how did he know about it in the first place?

"You're asking yourself how I know?" he asked. All I could do was nod. "I saw the puncture scars on you inner arm and wrist. Besides, you mentioned a doctor who could help. How else could you know of one, unless you were a patient of his at one point."

"I won't deny that you are correct, Mycroft. But relapsing. Mycroft, I've worked so hard to keep cocaine out of my life and you're asking me to go back to it."

"Emma, I know that it's not your first choice for a plan, nor is it mine," he said, calmly. "But Sherlock would do anything to keep you alive. If he sees that you have that you are ill or hurt, he will spare no pains to get you the best doctor."

"What is the rest of your plan?" Watson asked.

"Emma needs to find a time to inject herself with the cocaine, so that Sherlock will see her in some sort of drug induced stupor. He will no doubt call you Dr. Watson. You will examine Emma, and refer her to this doctor in Vienna. What's his name?"

"Freud," I answered.

"Freud. Have your bags packed and ready. You will board the train to Canterbury and take the boat to the Continent. When you reach Vienna, you will reveal all and explain the real reason you are there."

"We should let Dr. Freud know we are bringing Holmes to him for treatment," I said.

"Indeed. I will do so in the morning," Watson offered.

"Excellent," Mycroft said. "Now down to more business."

For nearly two hours, Mycroft outlined his plan in full detail to us. Watson and Mary would handle the arrangements of contacting Dr. Freud. As soon as we heard from him, we would act. Watson would measure out a dose of cocaine for me to take. I would not wake up at my usual time in the morning, which would cause Mrs. Hudson to worry. After injecting myself, I would fall to the floor, breaking some sort of glass or crockery, getting the attention of Mrs. Hudson. She would run and tell Holmes without a doubt. Holmes would be concerned and come upstairs to investigate. He would find me and the rest would fall into place.

We adjourned at a quarter to ten. Mycroft escorted me back to Baker Street on his way home. Closing the door of 221B, I sighed. "And so it begins," I whispered as I made my way to bed.

Two days later, on Friday evening, I received a short note from Mary saying that Dr. Freud would be ready for us when we came. Earlier that day, I had went to Watson's surgery and obtained the necessary equipment to pull off this charade. I left with a full syringe and a nearly empty bottle of cocaine. I locked them in the drawer of my bedside table until such time.

I didn't sleep at all that night. I didn't want to revert back to my former habit, but I had to for Holmes' sake. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling all night long. The more tired and ill I looked, the more convincing it would be. Off in the distance, I could hear Big Ben tolling the hours. I would never forget the way it seemed to be counting the hours until my time had come.

I was usually up and about by eight o'clock in time for breakfast. But I could hear Big Ben sounding the tenth hour of the new day. The sound of Mrs. Hudson's footsteps on the stairs reached my ears. I took the syringe from its place. My hand shook as I looked at it. Finding a vain in my arm, I plunged the needle into my flesh. "This is for you Holmes," I whispered as I pushed down on the piston.

I heard Mrs. Hudson knock on my door and call out my name as I took the needle from my arm. I could feel the drug starting to take effect. My strength was leaving me. I got out of bed, using the bedside table as a support. I 'accidentally' knocked over the pitcher and bowl. They fell to the floor and smashed to pieces. I remember nothing else, for I fell to the floor myself and felt the drug taking hold of my senses once again.


	6. The Solution

HOLMES- (_Very briefly_)

The sound of smashing crockery and Mrs. Hudson's shouts brought me upstairs in a hurry. Emma hadn't come down to breakfast this morning, and Mrs. Hudson was worried that Emma might be ill.

I found Mrs. Hudson outside Emma's room. The door was stuck. Putting my shoulder into the door, I forced it open. To my horror, I found Emma lying on the floor amongst broken crockery. Mrs. Hudson and I went to her side. I was afraid she might be dead, but when I found a faint, but rapid pulse I felt somewhat relieved.

"Mrs. Hudson," I said. "Go and fetch Dr. Watson at once."

The Scotswoman nodded and left quickly. I place my arms underneath Emma's unconscious body and lifted her. I was surprised to find how light she was. I place her in her bed and drew the covers around her. Something shiny caught my eye. Looking to her bedside table I saw a nearly empty bottle of a clear liquid. On the floor was a syringe. I picked it up and placed it next to the bottle.

I saw a speck of blood on Emma's arm. Examining her arm more closely, I observed tiny little scars on her inner arm. Puncture marks. Opening one of her eyes, I also observed that her pupil was dilated and her eye was blood shot. Her skin was pale and cool. There were tiny bags under her eyes. I took her limp hand in mine. "Oh Emma, what have you done?" I asked her getting no answer.

Fortunately Watson arrived. He examined her carefully. "I feared this would happen," he muttered placing his stethoscope back in his medical bag.

"What has happened Watson?" I asked, urgently. "What is wrong with her?"

Watson sighed regretfully. "Holmes, if Emma didn't tell you about this, then I shouldn't tell you."

"Watson, please. Emma lying there, something is wrong with her, and I can't help her because I don't know what the matter is. Please tell me Watson. I need to know so I can help her."

"She has slipped into a state of unconsciousness due to a nearly lethal dose of cocaine. I don't know if she will wake up. But if she does, she will continue to take cocaine until she overdoses and kills herself. But the fact she has had a past habit with cocaine doesn't improve her chances."

"What can we do?"

"Emma told me the name of the doctor who treated her before. He lives in Vienna, however."

"I don't care if he lives in China. If he can help her, we must take her there. Watson, will you help me take her to Vienna?"

"Of course, my friend. I will go and pack. I wire ahead to Dr. Freud explaining the situation."

I nodded "I'll have Mrs. Hudson pack Emma's bags, while I consult a Bradshaw and pack as well."

We boarded the next train for Canterbury, before boarding the boat for the Channel crossing, and taking another train to take us to Vienna. Emma was unconscious for most of the trip. Watson explained to me it was better that she was asleep. If she were awake, she might become hyperactive and be nearly impossible to control. Occasional she would murmur incoherently about something or another.

We reached Vienna three days later after I found Emma in her drug induced state. Finding a cab, we bundled Emma into it and made our way to the home of Dr. Sigmund Freud. Emma had rested her head on my shoulder as we rode through the streets of Vienna. Her very presence made my feel warm inside. It seemed that I couldn't think properly when she was around. With her being so close to me, I inhaled the scent of her soap and lotion, which she applied to her hands. Emma hardly ever wore perfume, unlike most women of her class.

The cab stopped in front of a house. This was the home of Dr. Freud. I gently lifted Emma out of the cab as Watson knocked on the door. The door opened to reveal a maid.

"Oh, come in quickly," she said with heavily accented English. "Herr Dr. Freud is expecting you."

I carried Emma inside. Watson and I followed the maid to the study of the doctor we had come to see. The doctor was not in his study, but the maid assured us he would be in shortly. I laid Emma on the consulting couch. She twitched at being unsettled then snuggled into the couch. I sat in one of the chairs opposite the desk and waited.

EMMA-

I opened my eyes just enough to see Holmes and Watson sitting in chairs, waiting for Dr. Freud. The affects of the drug had worn off sometime ago, but they left me feeling very weak. I was partly shaming on the way to Vienna and partly not. I wasn't in need of the drugs, but I was tired from the whirlwind trip it had given my senses.

I heard someone enter the study. It was Dr. Freud. He shook hands with Holmes and Watson.

"How is she?" he asked with heavily accented, but perfect English.

"She's been asleep most of the way here," Watson said to his colleague. "When she was awake, she was a shadow of herself. Bags under eyes, blood shot eyes, slight twitching, murmuring in her sleep."

"Hmm. I see. Well let's see how she is now." He walked over to me. "Fraulein Callaway, are you awake?"

"Somewhat," I said. "I never want to feel the way I have been lately again." With Freud's help, I sat up. "But don't concern yourself with me now, Doctor. I'm not the patient that you've been asked to see."

"Indeed," Freud said, looking up at Holmes.

We all looked at Holmes. Holmes looked at each of us in turn. His gaze remained on me the longest. "Well Delilah," he said finally, "now that you have betrayed me to the Philistines, what do you intend to do?"

"To help you," I replied.

"Help me? I don't need your help. There is nothing wrong with me. I do not appreciate being deceived by two people I thought to be my friends." He turned to Watson. "Yes, I deduced you had something to do with this Watson. How could you let her fool you into doing this?"

"That remark is unworthy of you, Holmes," Watson said in my defense as well as his. "Have you any idea what she has done to bring you here? She risked her life."

"That fake relapse? I saw right through it. She never took that cocaine."

"Yes, she did."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"I'm the one who gave it to her. It was all a part of Mycroft's plan."

"Mycroft?" He rounded on me. "You brought Mycroft into this?"

"Well, you would have seen through anything I tried to plan. When I told Mycroft about the cocaine, he helped immediately."

"If you will permit me to say a word," Freud interjected. "It seems to me that you are doing your friends and brother an injustice, Herr Holmes. They were concerned and tricked you into coming here in order to help you."

"There is nothing any of you can do," Holmes said slumping down on the couch next to me. "It is too late for me."

I tentatively snaked my arm around his shoulders. I scooted closer to him and gently gripped his upper arm with my free hand. "I thought that too," I said, gently. "But when I let Dr. Freud help me, I began to think that I could maybe begin to have faith in myself again. It took me a long time, before I felt free and clean."

"Fraulein Callaway is correct Herr Holmes," Freud said. "I too have taken cocaine and I am now free of its power."

Holmes stared down at the floor as Freud and I spoke. "Holmes, you can do this. Do it for your family. Do it for your friends. If nothing else, do it for yourself."

"I can't do it for myself," he said. He brought his gaze to mine. He placed his hand over the one I had on his arm. "But I'll do it for you."

My heart skipped a beat. The look in his eyes told me he loved me, but he was scared. I was scared too. I took his hand into mine. "Then I will be your rock," I said. "I will help you through this."

He nodded and smiled. "Now Dr. Freud, how do we proceed?"

"Do you know of the study of hypnotism?"

"I've read something of it. Do you propose to make me cluck like a chicken?"

"No," Freud answered with a smile. "I propose to artificial reduce your need for the drug until your own body chemistry completes the process."

I saw Holmes' free hand begin to tremble. "If you intend to do so, I suggest that you start at once. I'm beginning to feel the hideous compulsion, even now."

Dr. Freud immediately sprung into the action. He removed his pocket watch and held it before Holmes' face. "Keep your eyes on the watch," Freud instructed as he swung it back and forth.

Holmes watched the timepiece for several moments. I watched as his eyes closed and he slumped over into my lap. He lay there peacefully. "Sleep well my friend," I whispered.

Between them, Watson and Freud carried Holmes to the room that had been prepared for him. While Watson and Freud searched Holmes' luggage, I loosened his collar, removed his pocket watch, shoes, and jacket. I took the rug from the foot of the bed and draped it over the man I loved. I, then, helped Freud and Watson carry and dispose of all the vial of cocaine they had found in the false bottom of one of Holmes' suitcases.

After doing so, I decided to bathe and change my clothes. Watson had gone out to explore Vienna for a few hours. Freud also went out. As I was putting a clean dress, I heard a banging noise from within the wardrobe in my room. I approached it quietly. I opened it to find a little girl hiding inside.

"Hello," I said gently. "What are you doing in there?"

"Nothing," she answered.

"What is your name?"

"Anna."

Anna. I remembered that Freud had a daughter, but she was only a small infant when I was last here. She couldn't be more than five now. I knelt down in front of her. "Well Anna, my name is Emma."

"You came with those two men."

"Yes, that's right. They are my friends."

"Why are you here?"

"Well one of my friends is ill, and your papa is going to help make him better."

"Papa makes a lot of people feel better."

"Yes, he does. Does he make you feel better when you are ill?" The little girl nodded. "Well he made me feel better, too."

"Where you ill like your friend, Emma?"

"Yes, I was. But your papa made me well again."

"Would you like to see my dolls?"

"I would indeed."

I stood and the child took my hand. She led me to her room and began to show me her dolls. As I held the dolls, I was reminded of my own doll that I had when I was a child. Especially one particular doll that I called Evelyn. Evelyn was my rag doll. My nursemaid, Evelyn, had made her for me. Unfortunately my nursemaid died not long after and so I named the doll Evelyn in her honor. I still had the doll. At the moment, she sat on my desk next to the photograph of my family.

Suddenly there was a scream from Holmes' room. Anna ran to me and I hugged the girl close. The poor dear was frightened by the scream. I will admit myself to being a little shaken by it. I picked her up and hurried out of the room. In the hallway, I ran into Frau Freud and the maid, whose name I would find out later was Paula. As we all hurried to Holmes' room, Watson and Freud returned.

Frau Freud took her daughter from me, as Watson, Freud and myself hurried to Holmes. We found him searching for his stash of cocaine, which we had disposed of. It took Watson and I both to restrain him long enough for Freud to hypnotize him again.

"One of us will have to stay with him at all times," Watson said from the bedroom as I stood outside. He and Freud were dressing Holmes in his nightclothes.

"I agree," Freud replied. "You may come back in Fraulein Callaway."

I returned to the bedroom. Holmes was supported between Watson and Freud. I went over to the bed and drew back the covers. The two doctors laid the patient down and I gently tucked the covers around him.

"So who's going to sit up with him tonight?" I asked, tucking a piece of loose hair behind my ear.

"I will," Watson answered. "You need rest still, Emma."

"Very well. If you get tried, call out."

I didn't realize at the time what I had gotten myself into. It was one thing being the patient, but being the caretaker of a patient was another matter entirely.

For the rest of the day, whenever he was awake, Holmes told us how stupid we were, that Watson and I were holding him back and making his life miserable. I knew this was not the Holmes I knew and loved, but the words still hurt. On one occasion, Watson actually struck Holmes for a remark he had made about Watson being a cripple.

That night, Holmes developed a high fever. Watson had called me and went to bed. I bathed Holmes brow with a cool damp cloth. He babbled about oysters taking over the world. I murmured softly to him about things that were familiar to both of us, such as our family homes in Yorkshire. He would stare off into the distance as I spoke, recalling the many wonderful memories we shared.

His fever persisted for three more days. Freud, Watson, and myself by then had all stayed up with him at night and during the day. It was the third night of Holmes' fever, that I first heard Freud discussing Holmes' condition with Watson.

Frau Freud and Paula had just changed Holmes' sweat soaked bed sheets for clean ones. I had carefully dressed Holmes in a dry nightshirt. As we settled him back into bed, Holmes began twitching and raving again, only more violently than the pervious days. I wrestled with Holmes; while Frau Freud went to check on her daughter and Paula went to fetch some cold water and the two doctors.

Watson and Freud arrived just in time to see me fall to the floor. Holmes had shoved me away in one of his bouts of delirium, thinking I was one of his enemies. Watson helped be back up and I resumed my nursing, for Paula had arrived with the items I requested. I listened to Watson and Freud as I nursed Holmes.

"I think that brain fever may have set in," Watson said in a low voice. I knew that he was trying not to frighten me, but I had lived through a similar if not worse experience.

"No, no. This is the final hold the drug has on him. It has symptoms similar to brain fever. This is a turning point in his recovery, if he survives."

"If he survives?"

"Men have been known to die in the process of giving up the drug."

As I listened, Holmes had fallen asleep. Watson and I left Freud to tend Holmes. I came in after dinner to relieve him. I had brought in another bowl of cold water with me.

I found that Holmes was the calmest when I bathed his brow with cold water and sang to him. Since his back was to me at this time, I touched his neck with the cold damp cloth. When he felt this he turned over and looked up at me with eyes that were rot with fever and sleep deprivation. He reached up with a shaking hand and touched my face. I put my hand over his and pressed it to my cheek.

"Emma," he whispered. "Am I dying?"

"No. You are getting well."

"I don't feel like I am getting well."

I smiled. "You are." I took my hand from his and felt his brow. It was much cooler than it had been earlier in the day. "Your fever has broken at last."

"That's good to hear," he said, quietly. He rolled on his side toward me. He took his hand from my cheek and with both hands he clasped mine. "Emma, I don't remember much of what I have done or said these last few days. But I remember saying some awful things to you."

"You didn't Holmes. It was all just a bad dream."

"Oh well, if I did say anything to offend you or hurt you, I am sorry."

"Think nothing of it. Now to sleep. You may not have a need for cocaine anymore, but you'll be as limp as a noodle for several weeks." I tuck his blankets around him. Bending down I kissed his forehead as I had done every night while he was ill.

Days went by and Holmes was still bedridden. He slept most of the time, but when he was awake, he would eat and drink whatever we brought to him. The days that his body was ridding itself from the drug had left him very weak, but alive nonetheless.

It was nearly a week after Holmes' fever had broken, when a case came up. I was in Holmes' room, keeping him company, when Paula came into the room.

"I am sorry Fraulein Callaway, Herr Holmes. There is an Inspector Bauer to see you Herr Holmes."

I looked over at Holmes. He was in no condition to be taking on a case. He must of known what I was thinking, because he said, "I will see the Inspector, but I will only listen. I will not go out and investigate. I promise."

"Very well, then. Show the Inspector in, Paula, and get Dr. Watson."

A moment or two later, the Inspector arrived. He was a man of medium build with dark hair and brown eyes. He wore a handlebar mustache, which was neatly trimmed. When he saw me, he removed his bowler hat and tucked it under his arm.

"Herr Holmes," he said with a deep voice. "I do not wish to intrude, but I have a case that is all too puzzling."

"Let me have the details," Holmes said sitting up in bed.

By this time Watson had entered the room. Inspector Bauer shifted nervously. "I would prefer to communicate to you privately."

"Inspector Bauer, is it? If you know anything about my work, you would know that Dr. Watson is my friend and colleague. Miss Callaway is also a trusted friend."

"But I do not think that it is appropriate to involve a lady in this matter, Herr Holmes."

"It must be murder then," I said.

"Bravo Emma," Holmes said, delighted. "What was your line of reasoning?"

"When the Inspector said that it would not be appropriate to involve a lady, I knew it was murder. In London, Lestrade and the other inspectors are reluctant to explain a case of murder to you when I am in the room."

"Now Inspector Bauer, please explain the matter."

"Well, to speak plainly Herr Holmes, there has been a murder done at the home of Baron Wilhelm von Schneider, one of our lesser nobles. His wife's maid, Amelia Rosenbach, was found strangled to death in the parlor early this morning. No one heard a scream during the night and everyone was asleep."

"Who discovered the body?"

"Baron von Schneider's eldest daughter, Gerda. She was described as the early riser, often getting up before the servants do. She found the body and screamed, waking the rest of the household."

"How old is the girl?" I asked.

"Almost seventeen. She is home from boarding school for the holidays. We've questioned everyone in the house and we can't find a reason for anyone in the house to have killed Fraulein Rosenbach."

"You suspect someone outside of the household?" Holmes asked.

"Yes, Herr Holmes. But we do not know where to begin looking. Will you come?"

"I fear I cannot. My friends will testify that I am recovering from a horrible illness. I must remain in bed until further notice. However, the murder of a young woman cannot go uninvestigated. Therefore I recommend my friends Dr. Watson and Emma Callaway to help you with your investigation."

Inspector Bauer again shifted nervously. "Herr Holmes, I don't mind Dr. Watson looking into this affair on your behalf, but are you sure that it is wise to have a woman investigate this matter?"

"I think that it is very wise, Inspector Bauer. Don't you agree, Watson?"

"Very much so, Holmes. Inspector Bauer, you may not be aware that Miss Callaway is quite an exceptional and accomplished woman."

I couldn't help but blush at such praise from the two men I could always count on to be there for me.

"Emma, do you wish to involve yourself with this case?" Holmes asked.

Something had been nagging at me in the back of my mind for quite sometime, but I did not know what it was. I had a feeling that this case might be the answer to the problem. "I suppose," I said, carefully, 'that there are points of interest. I should be happy to assist in anyway I can."

Until the next chapter my wonderful reviewers. Perhaps we'll learn why Emma was addicted to cocaine? Of course we will. Look for the next installment of A Diamond In The Rough coming soon to a posting near you.


	7. Love Is The Greatest Mystery

Wow! I am so touched by some of the reviews I've been getting. To my reviewers and readers, please feel free to send me your ideas. If you would like to see Emma do something or just have an idea to expand on a chapter, please contact me. I can't guarantee that it will happen, but I will read your suggests and see what can be done. Who knows, maybe something you want to see is already in the works.

I have had some offers from reviewers to be my beta. I have yet to decide on one. I like to get suggestions from other people, especially on this particular topic. I am familiar with many of the Sherlock Holmes stories, but not all of them. If you feel that I have missed something that needs to be added because it would make the story accurate, tell me please.

Before reading this chapter, I highly recommend that you go back and read the previous chapters. I've added in some new stuff and I don't people going, "When did this happen?" or "Who is this person?" Please do a recap before reading new chapters.

Now to the fifth installment of A Diamond in the Rough, in which Emma solves a mystery.

EMMA-

Watson and I along with Inspector Bauer arrived at the residence of Baron von Schneider an hour later. His in town flat must have been large enough to fit at least two Baker Streets within it. From the windows hung crimson velvet curtains, and the walls was adorned with portraits of various sorts. The first steps I took into the flat, caused me to shudder. Everything about this flat reminded me of a life I had once led, a life of privilege and wealth.

Watson and I were introduced to Baron and Baroness von Schneider. The baron raised his objections about my investigating the case. But was when he was informed that I had come at the recommendation of Sherlock Holmes, he quickly changed the subject.

"How would you like to start Emma?" Watson asked.

"An examination of the body would be the best to start."

Bauer led us to the parlor where the murder had taken place. The poor unfortunate girl lay on the floor. She had been a lovely girl. She had golden hair and pale skin that had been dotted with freckles. Her green eyes bugled out of their sockets, which caused me to shudder slightly with terror and fright. There were large bruises around her neck. Under her fingernails was dried blood. She was still dressed in her nightgown, which had tiny specks of blood on it. Her left hand was by her face and was clenched in a fist. While Watson examined the body, I circled the girl's body.

"She couldn't have been much older than twenty-five," I said. I knelt down next to Watson and looked at the victim's neck. "She knew her attacker."

"How did you deduce that?" Bauer asked.

"Watson will you assist me?"

"Of course."

We both stood. "Now Watson if you were going to strangle me from behind, how would you do it?"

"Well I would put my arm across you neck like this." Watson gently threw his arm across my neck to demonstrate.

"And from the front?" Watson placed his hands gently around my neck. "You see Inspector Bauer, this girl was strangled from the front. You will observe the pattern of the bruising. There are clear indications of the individual fingers. Ergo, in order for the attacker to get close enough to strangle her with his hand, she would have had to have known him."

"Him? You suspect a male?" Bauer said, questioningly.

"Yes, unless you know of a woman who has hands that are larger than Dr. Watson's. I'd say he was just shy of six feet in height with scratches upon his person and light hair."

"Your deductions again, Fraulein Callaway?" Bauer seemed to question every deduction I made. On the other hand, in his mind, I was a woman and what did I know about the science of deduction. I knew more than he did, but not as much as Holmes did. I wished to God that Holmes was here instead of me, but he was unable to leave his bed. Watson and I were the only ones who knew his methods well enough not to bungle the case. I had to maintain the confidence that Holmes and Watson had in me and what I had in myself.

I took a deep breath and replied, "There is blood under her fingernails and upon her nightgown. She fought back once she realized that her attacker meant her serious harm. There are also hairs sticking out from her clenched hand. They are light in color. Lighter than her own hair color, almost white, but not from an old man."

"You can't be sure that she fought with her attacker. I mean she was a woman."

"You have obviously never seen a woman fight, Inspector Bauer," I said with a smile. "When a woman is attacked she does as much damage to her attacker as she possibly can while calling for help." I looked at the girl who lay before me. "Her attacker wanted her to suffer, so he didn't kill her quickly. That was his mistake. He gave her enough time to leave us clues as to who did this to her. Inspector how many males are in this household?"

Bauer pulled out his notebook and flipped through it. "Fourteen. A butler, a valet, two footmen, a page, a groom, a gardener, two stable boys, the baron and his three sons."

"I want to see them all."

"Now?"

I turned to the inspector. "At this very moment."

The inspector immediately left to round up every male in the household. Watson walked over to me. "You're starting to sound like Holmes," he said with a smile. "And you certainly think like him."

"Well when you live with a man like Sherlock Holmes, you tend to learn something. What do you think Watson? Am I on the right track?"

"It seems to me that you are hitting upon every point Holmes would if he were here and I have no doubt that he would support your deductions." He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "Bauer's theory about someone outside the house, do you believe it?"

"Not a word of it. She knew her attacker. I'm inclined to think it was a male of the household. But who I cannot say until I've seen them."

For the next few hours Watson and I interviewed every male member of the household, all except one. The baron's valet, Heinrich Steinbach. When I asked the baron as to Herr Steinbach's whereabouts, I received a very gruff reply.

"Steinbach received a message this morning that his mother was very ill. He has gone to see her." I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows in skepticism. "He has nothing to do with this."

"Never the less, I would like to speak to him when he returns," I replied. "In the meantime, I shall like to interview the rest of the household. Watson, could I trouble you for your notebook." Watson handed over the article I requested. I took the pencil from it and wrote a note to Holmes about what I had discovered. I gave Watson back his notebook and handed him the note. "Inspector Bauer, have one of your men take this to Herr Holmes at once. I think he should know the particulars as they are learned." I gave the note to the inspector who turned it over to a sergeant.

When the officer left, I turned to Watson. "Watson, I think it might be easier if I interviewed the female household members alone. You understand?"

"Of course. They might respond to you much more freely than myself. I'll see what more I can learn elsewhere."

I watched Watson walk into another room, before I started upstairs where the ladies of the house were. As I walked up the stairs, I looked at the portraits that hung on the wall. It had an eerie resemblance to a corridor that was in my family home in Yorkshire. The corridor had been lined with portraits of my family on my mother's side dating back to the reign of Queen Elizabeth. At the end of the passage where more recent portraits of my family, mainly my father, my mother, my brother Nicholas and myself.

One of the portraits on the wall of the von Schneider family caught my attention. It was a portrait of the baron and the baroness with their valet and lady's maid. I stared at the likeness of the valet for several moments. His likeness depicted him as a tall man with hair so light it was white. His eyes were the most chilling shade of blue that I had ever seen. My gaze traveled down to his hand, which rested on the back of the baron's chair. It was a large, gorilla-like hand.

The more I looked at his likeness, the more I became convinced that he had committed this atrocity. But I couldn't confirm it until I actually interviewed him. Nor could I yet prove that he had a reason to want to kill Amelia Rosenbach. I continued up the stairs until I came to the landing. I opened one of the doors and found the women waiting for me.

"Good afternoon," I said cordially. "I am Miss Emma Callaway and I am here acting for Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

The women all introduced themselves to me and I began my interviews. The questions I mainly asked were about Amelia Rosenbach herself. I learned that Fraulein Rosenbach was from a poor, but noble family in Switzerland. She had been with the baroness for nearly five years and was liked by all the members of the staff. Then I learned something interesting. It seemed that Peter von Schneider, the baron's second son, had made a proposal of marriage the Fraulein Rosenbach. She had accepted and neither family had raised any objection to the match. The wedding was set for April and all were eagerly waiting for that day. All but one.

I learned from one of the maids, Sophia Vandermeer, who was also Fraulein Rosenbach's friend most interesting pieces of information. I have long forgotten the exact words of the interview, but I do remember the main facts.

Heinrich Steinbach was in love with Amelia Rosenbach. He was not at all pleased with Fraulein Rosenbach. He had also proposed marriage to her, and she rejected him in favor of Peter von Schneider. When I asked why she had rejected him, Fraulein Vandermeer said that Herr Steinbach had a horrible temper and was abusive both verbally and physically.

It seems that Herr Steinbach was a terror to the junior members of the staff. The stable boys were afraid of him, as were the page, the scullery maid, and both the housemaids. He had been seen beating one of the stable boys with a whip by one of the footmen. The footman was threatened with similar treatment if he told anyone. Of course both Fraulein Rosenbach and Fraulein Vandermeer had witnessed this. Fraulein Rosenbach had wanted to tell the baroness about the incident, but was persuaded not to by Fraulein Vandermeer.

As she told me this, Fraulein Vandermeer's hands trembled with fright. I took her hands. "Don't worry," I said reassuringly, "I'll see that he never hurts anyone again."

She nodded and continued her story. It seemed that the day after this incident, Herr Steinbach proposed to Fraulein Rosenbach. She said no. A month later, Peter Von Schneider proposed and was accepted. It was after their engagement was announced, that Fraulein Rosenbach told her fiancée what she had witnessed. Young von Schneider then told his father. After that, the baron had given Steinbach his notice.

At last I had the motive. I thanked Fraulein Vandermeer and ran downstairs. I found Watson in the parlor, sitting in a chair going over his notes. The body had been removed and taken to the mortuary.

"Watson, I've got it!" I said excitedly.

"Have you solved it?"

"I believe I have. The valet, Heinrich Steinbach is our man."

"What was his motive?"

"He had two motives. It seems that Miss Rosenbach had rejected him in favor of the baron's son Peter and also because she had witnessed behavior from him that lost him his situation."

"We must inform Inspector Bauer then."

"I suppose we should, but whether he takes it seriously or not is another matter entirely."

We found Inspector Bauer and I informed him of my deductions and the evidence that supported my deductions. He simply smiled condescendingly and promised to look into the whereabouts of the valet. I felt my blood boil with rage, but I contained it, for it would not be ladylike to have a fit of temper in the present company.

The inspector hailed a cab for Watson and I to take back to Dr. Freud's house.

"That is a poor excuse of an officer of the law," I said as we rolled away. "A baboon would make a better inspector than him. Watson believe me when I say that I shall be happy to see all of the inspectors at Scotland Yard when we get home. At least they have more brains than Inspector Erik Bauer of the Vienna Police Force."

"I must concur," Watson said, grimly. "I think I can say with confidence that Holmes would have given Inspector Bauer an earful at the deplorable way he treated you."

I couldn't help but smile. "It would have been amusing if nothing else."

"Indeed it would have. Indeed it would have brought a smile to my face and I daresay it brought one to yours."

Holmes, we found when we returned, had made progress with his recovery while we were away. He was beginning to walk unaided, but only for a few steps. That night at dinner, he joined us. I, of course, helped him from his room to the table. He sat in the empty chair that was next to mine. I was pleased to see him eat everything that was on his plate. Over dinner, Watson and I informed our dining companions of the events that had taken place during the day. Holmes listened with great interest as to the details that I observed.

"You did well, Emma," he said when I finished. "Every link of your chain rings true. You have evidence that links your suspect to the crime, the motive, or in this case, motives of your suspect, and your suspect had opportunity to kill his victim. Inspector Bauer is a fool not to believe you."

"I think that perhaps the inspector was intimidated by Fraulein Callaway," Dr. Freud said. "In his mind, Fraulein Callaway shouldn't be the intelligent woman that she is. She shouldn't see things the way she sees them, nor should she be able to draw conclusions from what she sees."

Watson rose to his feet and raised his wine glass. "My friends I propose a toast. To Miss Emma Callaway and I'm sure all of us at this table will agree that it has been a pleasant experience to have made her acquaintance."

My dinner companions all raised their glass to me. When Watson sat, I took that time to speak. "I am honored and lucky to have you as my friends and to have your support and confidence. So I say that we all raise our glass to our friendship." Again we raised our glass, not to me, but to all of us.

When dinner concluded, Watson and Freud made their way to Freud's study for a glass of brandy. Frau Freud sat in the sitting room reading a book to Anna. I, however, helped Holmes to his room and into bed.

"You really did a remarkable job with the case today," Holmes said as he removed his dressing gown while I pulled back his bed covers. "Perhaps you should help me with my cases more often."

"I'd rather not. I wouldn't be taken seriously."

"I'd take you seriously."

"I know you would Holmes," I replied as I helped into bed. "But I don't think Lestrade or the other inspectors at Scotland Yard would." I saw his face fall with disappointment. I sat next to him on the edge of his bed. I took his hand in mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Or I could work with you intellectually. I think that the thrill of the hunt should be left to you and Watson. Would that be agreeable?"

"I'd like that." He paused for a moment. The expression on his face gave me the impression he was contemplating something before speaking again. "Emma, you know it's been difficult for me to bring you into my world and sometimes I find myself wanting to push you away, but I can't. You've become too important to me. Emma I want you to always know that I will always stand by you and support you in anyway I can. I will protect and care for you."

My heart began to beat within my chest at a rapid pace. His words were saying in a around about way what I already knew. He returned the love that I had harbored for him, but he didn't say it in clear, concise terms. But I sensed that Holmes was afraid of this new emotional experience. I knew that in our younger days that he never talked to many members of the fairer sex. His experience with females hadn't much improved. However, my own experience with the opposite sex wasn't much better.

I felt my skin begin to become very warm. I bowed my head as my eyes flooded with tears. Like he, I was also afraid. I was terrified from the start about being in love with him. The fact that he had just sworn to always be there for me made it even more frightening. Hot tears of fright ran down my face.

A hand touched my face and guided it up. Holmes brought my eyes level to his own eyes. "I've not seen these for sometime," he said, in reference to my tears, "and the last time I did, you were frightened. Why are you crying, my angel?"

"Angel?" I asked softly.

"You are. You've become my guardian angel these last few weeks. You have nursed me and cared for me. Now why would you do that? Because you care about me."

"I do more than just care for you," I replied, keeping my voice just above a whisper. "That's why I'm crying. Because I'm afraid to tell you."

"What are you afraid to tell?" He looked into my eyes as if searching my soul. He saw what I wanted to tell him. "You are afraid to tell me that you love me?"

I nodded and got to my feet. I walked slowly to the window and stood there for a moment. My face felt red with embarrassment. More tears dropped from my eyes. My secret was out now. What was I going to do? My relationship with him would never be the same as it had been before.

The floor creaking caused me to turn. There I saw Holmes coming to me, using the bedpost as a support. It was a nurturing instinct that brought me to him. I tucked myself under his arm and he supported some of his weight on my shoulder. For that moment, his weakened state distracted me for a moment while I helped him back into a sitting position on his bed.

Once he sat, he took my hand and pulled me down next to him. We were close together. My heart was racing again. He took my chin in his hand and smoothed the other hand over my face. His touch sent a shiver down my spine.

"You don't need to be afraid anymore," he said. He began bringing his face closer to mine.

"Neither of us need be afraid any longer," I whispered. Our noses brushed as our lips gently touched.

The anxiety that had once seized me now disappeared. His touch was tentative and unsure, just as mine probably seemed to him. But we soon became comfortable with the touch of the other's lips and all shyness was gone.

Many actors had kissed me on the stage, but their kisses were never real. His kiss was real. It was full of warmth, love, and tenderness. At that moment, I felt like I had found paradise and I didn't want to leave it. My broken heart was beginning to mend itself. I had been through so much heartache in my life and he was piecing it back together.

We regretfully broke the kiss. Our foreheads were still touching and I looked into his eyes. He looked into mine and whispered, "I love you, Emma."

"And I love you," I replied, also in a whisper.

"Emma. Something has been nagging at me for sometime. I need to know your motives for taking cocaine."

How like Holmes to go from one subject to another without batting an eye. I broke my eye contact with him and stared down at the space between us. I twisted my hands nervously and I bit my lower lip. I had hoped never to tell a living soul about my reasons for my use of the narcotic, but there was something inside me that made me feel I had to tell Holmes.

He took my hands and held them in his own. I looked up at him. His eyes searched mine looking for an answer. I took a deep breath and began to tell my story.

"I suppose it started when Nicholas died. You remember that day?" He nodded his head in agreement. "I remember it vividly. It was May 3rd. Nicholas and I had come to North Riding for the afternoon. I remember taking tea with you and your parents. You and I were talking with your parents, while Nicholas ran around the grounds. Then he spotted a tree in the distance. Like most little boys he began to climb it." I smiled through my tears. "Nicholas always used to climb things. It would scare Mother half to death when he climbed, but Father would say that it would toughen him up for sports at school.

When it was time to go home, I called for Nicholas to climb down. But of course he wouldn't. He went higher. I told him he was climbing too high. The branch broke under him and he…he…" I burst into another bout of tears. Holmes put his arms around me and held me as I cried. He smoothed my hair and whispered comforting words into my ear.

"I can still see him in my mind when I sleep," I said, my voice broken and half sobbing. "I can see his head all bashed in, his blood on the rock and on my dress. I can hear his voice calling me. 'Emmy. Emmy.' He cried and nothing more. I remember screaming his name and cradling his broke body in my arms. I remember what him dying felt like. One moment he was trying to touch my face, the next he was nothing. You had to come and pry me away from him."

"Yes," Holmes said in a low voice. "I remember we had to call a doctor to come and sedate you, because we couldn't get you to calm down. I don't think either one of us will ever forget the day that Nicholas died."

"No. We won't. After Nicholas died, Father was never the same. He and I fought on a regular basis from then on. It was then I stopped coming home for the holidays and when I was old enough, I left home. On my own, I needed a way to support myself. I could sing well and I was always mimicking others as a child, so I started to act. But I was feeling guilty about my brother's death, arguing with my father, not seeing my mother or you for so long, I never thought I would feel happy again.

Then one day, a colleague of mine told me that cocaine would make me feel happy and good again. In that brief period of weakness, I believed him. When I realized that I didn't need cocaine to feel happy, it was too late. I had become addicted to it.

Years later I met Irene Adler and became friends with her. She didn't know about my addiction at first, but one day she caught me with the needle in my arm. It didn't take her long to realize what I was doing. At the first opportunity she brought me to Vienna and I think you know the rest of the story."

"I never realized the extent of your emotional distress all those years ago," he said after a moment's pause. "If I had I would have done everything I could to help you. I know you and your brother were very close."

"Yes we were and we still are. Sometimes I can feel his presence around me when I'm in trouble. I think that he may have brought us together again, because he knew that we could begin to heal the holes that have been left in out spirits over the years."

Holmes kissed my forehead and pulled me closer to him. I smiled and snuggled against him. I could of stayed there all night, but I knew Holmes still needed his rest, as did I.

"I should probably go," I said. "You need to get you rest."

"And you need yours," he said, as I got up from the bed. "I would hate to see beauty such as yours go to waste."

I smiled as I helped him into bed. "Be careful, Holmes. You're starting to sound like Watson." I tucked the covers around him. I bent down and gently kissed his lips in a parting kiss. "I love you," I whispered.

I left his bedside and I turned down the lights. As I did, I heard Holmes' voice as he drifted off to sleep. "Good night, my love," he said. I smiled and closed the door.


	8. A Christmas To Remember

EMMA-

The Christmas season was approaching. We were still in Vienna, because Freud wanted to make sure that Holmes' condition was stable enough for him to return to London. Watson had wired his beloved wife to inform her that we would not be home in time for Christmas.

I had noticed that Watson seemed very lonely without Mary and not spending Christmas with her made him even lonelier. I told him should go and I would look after Holmes until we returned. He declined my offer, saying that his loyalty to Holmes made him stay. I finally gave up on persuading Watson to return to England.

It was two weeks before Christmas and Holmes was up and about the house. He started accompanying me on walks. On one such walk, I told Holmes of my concern for Watson. Holmes listened intently and when I finished he was silent.

We came to a park and sat on a bench. Carolers were singing in the distance, children were playing in the snow, and people were skating around a frozen pond. It was not a bitter day, but I was not one for the cold. We sat there for sometime. Holmes simply sat and said nothing. The look on his face told me that he was considering something.

I coughed. It was a deep, chesty cough. Holmes was brought out of his train of thought at the sound of my cough.

"Emma," Holmes said concerned. He put his arm around my shoulders and held me as another bought of coughs overtook me. "Come let's get you back, before you come down with pneumonia again."

He helped me back to Dr. Freud's house. He instructed Paula to bring us a warm pot of tea. The sitting room already had a blazing fire in its hearth, so Holmes and I sat in the chairs nearest the hearth to warm us. As we sat, I couldn't help but feel that we were back at Baker Street. I knew that Holmes and Watson were feeling my feelings of homesickness. Holmes was anxious to get back to the criminal element of London and Scotland Yard, while Watson wanted to get back to his practice and his wife. I didn't have a reason to back to England, but I wanted to go back all the same.

"You should have let me know that the cold air was affecting you," Holmes said after Paula had brought the tea. He poured me a cup and handed it to me.

"I didn't think it was. It came on suddenly." I took a sip of tea. "You seemed deep in thought about something."

"I was thinking about what you said about Watson. I didn't realize what it means to have someone you love spend Christmas with you until recently."

I smiled. Our love and regard had grown day by day. We had both been so lonely for so long that it was nice to have someone to be there for you. I still referred to Holmes by his surname. I was not yet comfortable calling him Sherlock.

"Well," I said. "What can we do? Watson refuses to leave your side. He's too loyal to you."

"Yes, I know. I fear that some day that loyalty will cause him great pain." His voice was so soft that I barely heard him.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. As to what we can do for Watson, I think that a surprise is in order. He won't go to his wife, so we will bring his wife to him."

"Mary? Here? How?"

"Emma, I want you to write to her and have her follow the instructions I'm about to give you. She is to pack and catch the first possible train to Bristol. From there she shall take the boat across the channel. Once off the boat she will take the train all the way to Vienna. I shall go and collect her at the station."

"And what am I to do while you collect Mary?"

"Keep Watson distracted. Tell him that he needs to help you shop for Christmas or some such thing."

I stood and walked around the back of Holmes' chair. I bent down and wrapped my arms around his neck. I kissed his forehead. "I think that this is a brilliant idea. Watson has done so much for us, that we need to do something for him."

So that night I composed a telegram to Mary with the detailed instruction from Holmes. In addition to Holmes' instructions, I asked her to bring Holmes' violin with her. The next day, I had it sent to England and that afternoon around teatime, Mary's answer had reached me. She was would arrive the day before Christmas. I informed Holmes and we prepared for her arrival.

We enlisted the help of the Freuds to keep Watson distracted. Dr. Freud took Watson to his club and to a few of the hospitals where he had patients. Frau Freud asked him how we celebrated Christmas in England. The Freuds being Jewish were not totally familiar with how we celebrated Christmas. Watson described the first Christmas he spent with Mary. I was sitting in the room with Anna as he described it. Both Holmes and I had spent Christmas with the Watsons that year and I recalled the setting.

There was evergreen everywhere. The tree wasn't a large one. It was tucked in the corner and it brightened up the room. Ornaments dangled from the branches, tinsel was woven around the tree, and a simple but beautiful Christmas angel sat at the top of the tree.

Mary had prepared a wonderful Christmas dinner. It was a roast goose with potatoes, and applesauce. After we had finished, a flaming Christmas pudding was served. I remember that I had found a ring in my slice of pudding. As the tradition went, getting the ring meant that you would marry during the year.

I didn't think much of it then, nor do I think much of it over that year. Since the ring was big enough to fit on my finger, I wore it on my second finger of my right hand. But now as the year came to a close, I began to wonder. Holmes and I had confessed our feelings to each other and we had begun spending more time together. I wondered if Holmes was meant for me.

The date of Mary's arrival came. I managed to convince Watson to help me with Christmas shopping for Holmes, so that Holmes could go and collect Mary. Even though my present to Holmes was having Mary bring his violin from England, Watson didn't know that. Watson seemed to look forlorn as we walked. My heart went out to him, and I knew that come Christmas morning his sadness would be dashed away.

We returned empty handed, as I intended. Watson went to Dr. Freud's study to read for a bit. I found Holmes in the sitting room. He rose and gave me a gentle kiss. I loved each and every one of his kisses.

"Where's Mary?" I asked.

"She's in your room. I felt it might be best to her stay in there until the appropriate time. How's Watson?"

"He seems to grow more depressed by the day. I hope that seeing Mary will make him happier."

"There's not a doubt in my mind that it will. Emma, I've been thinking."

"Oh dear," I said. I always teased him when he had been thinking. I sat in the chair opposite the one he had been sitting in.

"Oh dear is right. Love, it occurred to me that I never asked your parents for permission to court you."

"It's true you didn't. But I'm glad you didn't."

"Why's that?"

"Oh Mother would approve most certainly. But Father. He would tell you to stay away from me and he'd tell me to never to see you again. That would tear me apart."

"I see," he said. "But we will have to tell them someday."

"Someday isn't today. Let's not let this ruin Christmas. We can discuss it more when we are back at Baker Street."

Before any of us knew it, it was Christmas morning. The Freuds had decided to partake in our holiday traditions since we partook in theirs. Anna was pleased with the small gifts that were by the tiny tree for her. When Anna had finished opening her presents, I looked at Holmes, who gave me a nod. It was time to get Mary.

I left the sitting room and went to my room. Mary was up waiting for me. She already had tears forming in her eyes. I gave her a moment to compose herself.

"Oh, Emma. I'm so excited. I can't wait to see the look on John's face," she said. I shall never forget the smile on her face that day. It was the bright, beaming smile of joy.

I motioned for her to follow me to the sitting room. "Wait here," I whispered. We were just outside of the sitting room. I went in and walked over to Holmes. Standing on the tips of my toes, I brought my lips to his ear. "Ready," I whispered.

"Watson," he said. "Have you heard from your wife at all?"

"I received a telegram from her this morning wishing me a Merry Christmas and good health to all of us," Watson answered in a low, but seemingly cheerful voice. Holmes and I knew better though.

"Watson, Emma and I have a surprise for you. Emma told me about how much you missed Mrs. Watson."

"Emma, you shouldn't have told him. It might have impaired his health," Watson said slightly putout.

"My health is fine, my friend. It is thanks to you and to Emma that I am even here celebrating this holiday with the people who I care about. But it seems to me Watson, that you are missing someone. Your wife."

At that moment, Mary stepped into the sitting room. Watson's face full of surprise, shock, and happiness at the sight of her. He was frozen there for a moment, and then he crossed the room in two strides. He picked up his wife in a loving embrace and kissed her. I could see tears of joy run down Mary's cheeks as she returned her husband's kiss. I looked at Holmes, who stood behind me. He put his arms around me and kissed the side of my head as we watched the happy reunion.

When the kiss was finally broken, I could hear Watson asked his wife how she got here.

"Emma telegraphed me. She told me all about your misery and instructed me to come to Vienna just before Christmas. Oh Emma. The item you asked me to bring is under my bed."

"Item?" Holmes asked. "What item?"

"My surprise for you," I answered. I again left the sitting room to return to my room. I found Holmes' violin case under Mary's bed. I opened it and removed the Stradivarius and its bow from it. Just by holding the violin, I could feel Holmes' presence issuing from it. I returned to the sitting room with the violin in hand. When Holmes saw his violin, he came to it as if it called to him.

"I had Mary bring it from London. I know that it is your greatest treasure," I said as he took it from me and gazed at it and wonder.

My words brought him out of his euphoria. He put the violin down and looked me in the eye. "It is not my greatest treasure," he said flatly. He took chin between his thumb and forefinger. He brought his face closer to mine. "You are my greatest treasure," he said as our lips touched.

I opened my eyes briefly as we kissed. Watson was shocked, but pleased. Mary was already aware of my romance, because I had told her and asked her about her experiences with love. The Freuds were pleased. Dr. Freud, we later learned, had known from the start. He had been standing outside of Holmes' room when we had finally confessed our love. Frau Freud could read it in our manner to each other. Little Anna was just happy, because we were all happy.

"Will you play for us?" I asked Holmes was we parted.

"I would be delighted, but first I have something for you." From his pocket, Holmes took a square box. He handed it to me. I opened it and its contents took my breath away.

It was a round locket made of sterling silver. It had an E engraved upon the front and upon the back was an engraved rose bud. I opened it and found a lock of Holmes' hair within as well as a likeness of him.

"Oh Sherlock! It's beautiful!"

He smiled and took the locket from the box and stepped behind me. He placed it around my neck. I held my hair out of his way so he could clasp the locket behind my neck. I felt the weight of the locket upon my breast. I smoothed my fingers over its surface.

"Do you like it?" Sherlock asked.

I smiled and kissed his cheek. "I love it. Where did you find it?"

"I bought in London weeks ago. When we came to Vienna, I had it packed in my luggage. I didn't know if we'd be home in time for Christmas."

"Well, we're not actually away from home," Mary said.

"What do you mean my dear?" Watson asked.

"Well, Christmas is all about spending time with the ones we love. We're all here with people that we care about. So even though we aren't necessarily in our own homes for Christmas, we're still home. After all home is anywhere that we are loved."

"She's right," I said and Sherlock nodded in agreement. The both of us had had issues with our families, but somehow without intending to we had started to make a new family.

"Speaking of home and of families," Sherlock remarked. "Perhaps when we return to England at the New Year, I should go to Yorkshire."

"Yorkshire?" Watson asked. "What's in Yorkshire?"

"Our families," I replied. "Sherlock's parents and siblings and my parents. We have not had much contact with them over the years." I took Sherlock's hand. "I'll go with you. I have my own demons contend with there."

We were in England again by the second day of the New Year. The day after Sherlock and I were on our way to Yorkshire to settle the issues that we had with our families. I knew that Sherlock's problem would be easier to solve than mine would.

I'm sorry that it took so long to update, but I am working on other projects besides this one and I also have a life outside of fan fiction. You know school's getting ready to start. There's the whole registration process and paperwork that never seems to end. So now that school is starting, updates won't be too often (not that they're often anyway.) I will try to check-in and leave status reports on my bio page once a month, okay?


	9. Combating Fears

Thank you to my reviewers. You are beautiful (and handsome) people.

georgie d: Thank you for your suggested, but no. We can't have Emma's father put a hit on Holmes. We need him for the story, however the thought had crossed my mind. But if you would be so good as to contact me through e-mail. I have chosen you as a beta reader. Once you've contacted me, we will work out details.

-EMMA-

I could see the tops of the cottages of the sleepy little village where Sherlock and I spent our childhood as our train pulled us closer to the station. The village of Mycroft, which is the namesake of Sherlock's brother, was blanketed with snow as was typically with a winter in Yorkshire. Smoke curled up from the chimneys, which gave the village a warmer and more homely feeling than London ever could make me feel. As the train moved closer, lighted windows and streets came into view. Shop signs and people followed them. The whistle sounded as the train slowed and pulled into the station.

Throughout the journey, Sherlock hadn't said much. He sat opposite from me with his head bowed, his fingers were pressed together forming a steeple, and his eyes were closed in deep meditation. His face gave me no hint of emotion. I had often seen him like this when he was linking the chain of a case. I knew him well enough to know that he was worried about how this would turn out for the both of us, although he hadn't verbally said anything to indicate his anxiety.

I confess that I was also feeling very anxious and nervous. I hadn't been in contact with anyone in Yorkshire, save my mother, since my brother's death. I knew that my mother would be happy to see both Sherlock and me, but my father was an entirely different matter.

My father was grossly affected by Nicholas' death. After the funeral, he had locked himself in his study and wouldn't emerge except when he would go to bed. Eventually he moved out of the bedroom that he and Mother had shared and moved into a ground floor bedroom that was nearer to his study. Mother and I were left to manage the estate alone and when I couldn't stand being under the same roof as my father, I left Mother alone to somehow manage without me. I had always felt guilty about leaving her and I hoped that she could forgive me.

The train jolted to a stop. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked out the window.

"So much has changed," he replied.

I turned my gaze out the window. I had to admit that there were more cottages than there were ten years ago. I noticed that some of the streets had been paved. I could see lampposts on some of the corners.

"I suppose that we couldn't have expected that it would stay the same," Sherlock said. "Time brings changes and the modern world is creeping into the seemingly timeless villages of the English countryside. Though I suppose that it's for the best."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He opened the door of the carriage and stepped out. "As the village grows," he replied, extending his hand to help me out of the train carriage, "the need for a larger constabulary will increase. As the more officers come on duty, the safer the village will become."

"I suppose that may be true," I commented as I stepped off the train. "But many of our old haunts will disappear as the village becomes a town or even a small city."

"Such as the price we pay as we pass the reins onto a new generation."

"If that's the case, then let us enjoy what we have while we have it."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly my dear."

Sherlock found a porter to help us take our luggage to the village inn. The Golden Oaks, fondly known to the locals as the Oaks, was located at the very center of the village next to the baker's shop and across the street from the blacksmith's shop. The building itself was a common enough one, but the aura that emanated was one of warmth and good feelings that one can find in a local pub.

When we entered the landlord immediately had our bags taken up to our rooms. Sherlock and I followed our luggage to our rooms in order to freshen up. If I was going to face my father, I was going to do so in clean clothes and after a cup of tea. After a fresh change, I went downstairs and found Sherlock waiting for me at a table in the main room. We drank some tea to warm ourselves before we ventured out into the cold, crisp Yorkshire winter again.

Within an hour of our arrival in Yorkshire, Sherlock and I were in a carriage that would take us to North Riding, where the Holmes family lived. We didn't say a word to each other the whole way there. We wanted to be with our own thoughts. We were both concerned about how this would all turn out. All we could do us hope for the best. I suppose it can be said that I was a bit more anxious than Sherlock, because I hadn't seen Uncle Siger or Aunt Violet, let alone my own parents since I left.

Ever since Sherlock and I were children, I had always referred to Sherlock's parents as Aunt Violet and Uncle Siger as they were my godparents. Sherlock in turn referred to my parents as Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Jonathan as they were his godparents and those of his brothers and sister.

I felt a hand slide into mine. I looked at Sherlock, who pointed at an object directly in front of us. My gaze followed in the direction he was pointing in. In the distance was a manor. I squeezed his hand as the carriage brought us closer and closer to the manor.

The manor was an ominous looking building. The fact that clouds were forming in the sky indicating that we should expect snow to fall again in the next twenty-fours, gave the manor a malevolent and evil appearance.

The carriage stopped in front of the main door. Sherlock stepped out and handed me down. I followed Sherlock up to the door. He simply stood in front of the door in silence. I slid my hand in his.

"You won't know unless you knock," I said softly.

"I know, but I'm…"

"And I am as well. We can't keep running from this forever and ever. We need to overcome our fears and take what comes. If Father and Uncle Siger don't want to see us again, we can at least say that we tried to settle the matter."

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door with his stick. I felt his hand grip my hand very tightly. The door opened by Simpson, the butler.

Simpson had been the Holmes family butler since Aunt Violet and Uncle Siger were first married. He was not strictly speaking elderly, but when he had advice to give, you would be wise to listen. His once brown hair was now gray. His blue eyes were still as warm and friendly as ever.

"Master Sherlock!" he cried in surprise. "We weren't expecting you, sir!"

"I know, Simpson. It was a last minute decision. Is my father at home?"

"Yes, sir. He's in the library with Lady Violet and Master Sherrinford." Simpson stepped aside to allow us in. I entered first, and Sherlock followed. Simpson squinted slightly. "Miss Emma?" he asked.

"Yes, Simpson. I was wondering if you remembered me."

"I didn't recognize you at first. You've grown into a beautiful young woman."

"Thank you, Simpson. You look the same as you ever did, and I'm pleased to see you still here."

A maid came and took our hats, coats, gloves, scarves, my muffler, and Sherlock's stick. Simpson led us to the library. As we walked, I found that North Riding hadn't changed much in appearance after all these years.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Miss Emma Callaway," Simpson said announcing us as we entered the library.

Uncle Siger, Aunt Violet, and Sherrinford all rose. They were all surprised to see us both, but they were more surprised to see me. Aunt Violet came forward and embraced her youngest child.

"Oh Sherlock! We didn't know you were coming."

"Yes I know, Mother. But I'm tired of this very distant contact between Father and I. I've come to settle it. Emma has come with me in order to come to terms with her own troubles."

Aunt Violet released Sherlock and came to me. Lady Violet Holmes was a lovely lady. Her brown hair was touched with gray. Her gray eyes spoke of her compassionate nature and brought me comfort.

"I can hardly belief that the woman before me was once the little girl who sat in her mother's lap listening to stories. You've grown to look so much like your mother. It is good to have you back, Emma."

"It is good to be back, Aunt Violet. I am equally pleased to see that you are all well."

"Well, I am pleased to see you both in such fine health," Sherrinford said, shaking his brother's hand. "Will you both be staying for the Twelfth Night celebrations?"

"Sherrinford," Uncle Siger said, coming forward. "I think that it is a little premature to be asking him such a question." He looked towards his youngest son. "Now, boy, what have you to say to me?"

"I think we'd better leave," Aunt Violet said. "I'm sure that you and Sherlock have much to discuss. Come along, Sherrinford, Emma."

"Good luck," I whispered in Sherlock's ear, before following Aunt Violet out of the library.

"Emma, just where are you and Sherlock staying while you are in Yorkshire?" Aunt Violet asked.

"At the Golden Oaks, in the village."

"I think not. You and Sherlock are to stay here for the duration of your stay."

"But Aunt Violet, if Sherlock and Uncle Siger can't resolve their differences…"

"Now don't you worry about that. Sherlock is my son. I will not have a child of mine not be welcomed home. Simpson."

The faithful butler was coming from the morning room when Aunt Violet caught his attention.

"Yes, my lady?" he said.

"Would you please arrange for Sherlock and Emma's luggage to be brought up from the Golden Oaks?"

"At once, my lady."

We then retreated to the parlor. We found Mrs. Flannery, the Holmes' matronly Irish housekeeper, hanging so new curtains with the assistance of two of the maids.

"Mrs. Flannery," Aunt Violet said, "when you have finished here, would you please prepare two bedrooms."

"Yes, my lady. You'll pardon me fer askin', my lady, but Mr. Simpson said that has Master Sherlock returned. Is that true?"

"Yes, he was. He will be staying here for at least a week, is that not correct Emma?"

"Oh yes, Aunt Violet. It'll take at least a week to get Father to come out of his study."

"Miss Emma, is that you?" Mrs. Flannery asked, quizzical.

"Yes, Mrs. Flannery. I'm happy to see that you are still here."

"Well, I am happy that yer back. Goodness me, how you have grown. It seems like only yesterday that you were a wee girl runnin' about with ribbons in yer hair. Well I better be gettin' along. My lady, Miss Emma, Master Sherrinford." She and the maids curtsied before exiting.

Aunt Violet sat in a chair with a sigh of relief. Sherrinford and I occupied the couch next to her chair. A fire was burning in the fireplace, providing warmth against the cold winter. Jane, one of the maids, came in a short time later with a tray laden with tea.

"So Emma," Aunt Violet said taking a cup of tea from Jane. "What adventures have you had since I have seen you last. Your mother informs me that you've done a great deal of traveling."

I shifted nervously as I took my own cup of tea from Jane. My life was one that might be considered scandalous. I was trying to think of an excuse to give her, but the sounds of furious shouting reached our ears. Sherlock and Uncle Siger were trying to out shout each other.

"Oh dear," Aunt Violet said. "I was afraid this would happen."

"Aunt Violet, what caused Sherlock and Uncle Siger to become so distant?" I asked, taking a sip of tea.

"Don't you know? Oh that's right you were at school when it happened. I'm surprised that Sherlock didn't tell you, but I suppose when it comes to my youngest son, nothing surprises me anymore. Siger wanted Sherlock to become an engineer. But after Sherlock solved his first case…"

"The Gloria Scott affair. Sherlock has mentioned it to me."

"Yes that's right. After that he turned his eye to solving crimes. Siger wasn't happy when he learned what Sherlock intended to do with his life. He even wrote to Sherlock telling him not to come back to the house until he came to his senses. I hope they can work this out. I would like to see more of him."

"And so would I," Sherrinford said. "I know that Calantha would like to see him more often. And there are new members of the family who would like to meet him."

"Sherlock told me that you are married, Sherrinford," I said changing the subject of conversation. "Is this true?"

"Yes. Ten years this coming March."

"I'd love to meet your wife."

"You will at dinner. She and Calantha are doing charity work down at the mission hall. I have no doubt that Calantha will be happy to see both you and Sherlock when she returns. And Virginia is very eager to meet my famous younger brother, but I sure she's just as eager to meet you."

"Why is that?"

"Emma you are just as much apart of this family as Sherlock is. While we were looking through old family photographs, Virginia thought that you were our little sister."

"I might as well have been. You certainly treated me as one with all the tricks you, Mycroft, and Calantha used to play on Sherlock and me."

"I hope you're still not bitter about those."

"Oh no. Rather they inspired me to play some tricks of my own later on."

"Hopefully Thomas and Diana won't carry on that particular Holmes tradition," Aunt Violet replied.

"Your children?" I asked Sherrinford.

"Yes. Thomas is almost five and Diana just turned two. Both I think will turn out to be like their Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Sherlock. They are extremely intelligent for children their age."

"Ah. But where would Sherlock and Mycroft be without their brother Sherrinford to guide and teach them when they were young?" I asked. Sherrinford blushed. "I for one hope that the children don't turn out to be misanthropic and misogynic. Both Mycroft and Sherlock seem so lonely. But I think that Sherlock is coming out of his loneliness."

Aunt Violet was about to say something when the door opened. Sherlock and Uncle Siger walked into the room.

"Well," Aunt Violet asked her husband. "Have you two settled your differences?"

"We have, Violet. Emma, I am glad that you convinced Sherlock to come back so we could talk things through."

"I didn't convince him at all, Uncle Siger. He suggested it."

"But you inspired me," Sherlock said. He pulled out his pocket watch. "It is getting late. We better leave Emma, before it gets too cold."

"I won't have it," Aunt Violet said. "I have arrange for your things to be brought up from the inn and rooms are being prepared for you at this moment. You both are staying here."

"Mother. You didn't have to…"

"Nonsense," Aunt Violet said interrupting her youngest child. "What kind a mother would I be to have my child not be welcomed with open arms to his home?"

"In that case, we shall accept you invitation to stay."

"So will you be staying for the Twelfth Night celebrations?" Sherrinford asked restating his earlier question.

Since Sherlock's birthday was January 6th, which was also the Twelfth Night, there was a celebration of some kind. It usually was in the form of a ball. As children, Sherlock and I were permitted to limited participation in the festivities, since there was usually story telling for children. As we grew older we were allowed to participate in the same activities that the adults.

Sherlock thought for a moment. "What a superb idea for us to forge new ties. What do you think Emma?"

A thought popped into my mind. What if my father would be there? I was worried about seeing him tomorrow, but seeing him twice and possible fighting with him twice.

"I would think so, but…"

"Emma?"

"I must confess that I am concerned about my upcoming encounter with my father tomorrow. Is he coming to the Twelfth Night?"

"Emma, he hasn't come to a celebration since Nicholas passed away. Your mother comes every year though," Aunt Violet replied. She squeezed my hand reassuringly. "I know that your mother will be very happy to see you even if your father might not be."

"Thank you, Aunt Violet. Let us hope that all will go well tomorrow."

At dinner that night, Sherlock and I were finally introduced to Sherrinford's wife, Virginia. She was an attractive woman. She had golden hair and grayish blue eyes. She was very pleased to finally meet Sherlock and me. Throughout dinner, she questioned us about what was like solving crimes. When such questions were directed to me, I deferred them to Sherlock, since I had little to do with Sherlock's cases.

Sherlock's sister, Calantha, was also pleased to see us. She hadn't changed at all. Her hair was still brown and her gray eyes were still full of sisterly affection that I had cherished when I was younger.

I couldn't help but smile when Sherlock learned that Calantha was engaged to be married later in the month. He demanded to know who had the audacity to marry his sister. Calantha smiled.

"His name is Oliver Bailey. He is a captain in the East India Army. You'd like him, Sherlock. Give him a chance."

"We shall see. What is the date?"

"The 23rd. Sherlock please give him a chance. He's really anxious to get your approval. He is so nervous."

"I would think having Sherlock Holmes as a perspective brother-in-law might be nerve wracking for any man," I replied.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh honestly Sherlock. The moment we get back to London, you'll go to straight to Scotland Yard and ask Lestrade for every bit of information on Captain Oliver Bailey that the Yard might have on file. Then you'll go through all of your indexes for more information. That particular search will create a large mess, which Mrs. Hudson or I will have to clean up. I imagine after that search is exhausted, you'll go and see Watson and ask him to use his military connections to find out the army career of Captain Bailey."

"You seem to think you know exactly I am going to do when we return to London," Sherlock replied cynically.

I put down my fork and stared at him across the table. "Sherlock, remind me again how long we've known each other? I know your mind as well as my own."

Sherlock didn't respond. He knew I was right. I stared at him. I felt my eyebrow rise in a questioning look. He cleared his throat and finished chewing his food. "If I swear," he said, calmly, "that I won't investigate Captain Bailey, will you and Calantha desist from making this the Spanish Inquisition?"

I looked down the table at Calantha. She nodded. "We accept your terms."


	10. Old Wounds Reopened

EMMA-

The next day, I rose early. I hadn't slept well at all that night. I finally gave up around three in the morning, dressed and went down to the morning room. My nerves were all on end. Of course any meeting with my father, former Colonel, now squire, Jonathan Edward Callaway was intimidating.

"I thought I'd find you down here."

I turned and found Sherlock standing in the doorway of the morning room. "Were you looking for me?"

"I wanted to see how you were?"

"I'm fine."

"No you're not."

"Who are you to tell me how I should feel?" I snapped.

"See. You're on edge. You never are. Has your father gotten you to feel this agitated?"

"I suppose he has. Oh I don't know how to feel. Father was in India for so long, that even on his visits home he seemed more like a stranger than a father. And when Nicholas died he shut himself away completely."

Sherlock sat down next to me and put his arms around me. I leaned against him and sighed. "Do you want me to come with you today?" he asked.

"You don't have to. But Mother might enjoy the company and I could use the support after this next conference with my father."

"Sherlock? Emma?" We both looked up to see Aunt Violet coming into the morning room.

"I'm sorry Aunt Violet. Did I wake you when I got up?"

"Oh no, dear. I'm always up first. I'm surprised to find the two of you up so early."

"I couldn't sleep," I replied. "I'm just so nervous about this afternoon."

"Well breakfast is served. Shall we have an early breakfast before everyone else wakes up?"

Sherlock and I got up off the couch and began to walk out of the morning room. As we walked out, I noticed that Aunt Violet gave me a look. A look, which made me feel that she knew what the relationship was between her son and me.

As it grew closer to the afternoon, Sherlock and I prepared to go to Willow Grove, my family home on my mother's side. We sat in silence once again as we were driven across the snow-covered meadows. As the snowy tops of the willow trees that surrounded my home came into view, I felt the air in my lungs grow ice cold. Willow Grove didn't differ any from any other manor in the district. It would as cold, dark, and gloomy as it always was in the winter.

"You won't know unless you knock," Sherlock whispered in my ear, when we reached the front door.

"I fancy I said the same thing to you yesterday."

"You did." He kissed my cheek. I took a deep breath and knocked on the heavy oak doors.

We admitted into the house by the butler, Baines. As at North Riding, we were not expected. Baines informed me that my mother was in the drawing room and my father was in his study as usually.

"If you will follow me Miss Emma, I will announce you to Sir Jonathan."

"No, Baines. I don't want you getting into trouble with Father. I have a feeling he'll be very angry that I've even set foot in this house. No, I must do this without announcements. But if you will show Mr. Holmes to the drawing room, I'm sure Mother would like the company."

"As you wish, Miss Emma. Good luck to you, lass."

"Baines a moment if you will," Sherlock said. Baines bowed his head in response and moved off to a corner. "Are you sure you don't me to come with you?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm sure. You faced your father without my help, therefore, I must face mine without your help. Besides there is no sense in us both being yelled at by a man who is used to having things done his way or no way."

"Well, good luck then, my love."

Sherlock bent down and caressed my lips with his. It was a brief kiss, but it filled me with some courage. He broke it and began to walk towards Baines. I held his hand until the last possible moment, before I walked to the large doors that were the entrance to father's study.

I opened them quietly so as not to startle him. He sat with his back to the door, staring into the fire. Something was in his lap. It was a photograph. I couldn't see who the photograph was of, but if I knew anything about my father it was a photograph of my brother Nicholas.

He looked up when he heard my footsteps. "What is it, Eleanor?" he asked, solemnly.

Eleanor? Eleanor was Mother's name. Then I remembered Father had had scarlet fever some fifteen years ago. Mother often wrote that Father's health had deteriorated as time went on. Father's eyesight had been greatly affected by the fever. He wasn't wearing his corrective lens. They were on a table that was just in front of me.

I picked up the spectacles and brought them over to him. "Father," I said handing him the spectacles. "It's me. Emma."

Father took the spectacles from me and put them on. When his eyes refocused, he looked up at me. His face contorted into a distorted mask of vile rage. "What do you want? How dare you? I thought I told you never to dark my door again. You are not welcome back here you unfeeling vixen!"

"I came back because I am tired of this fighting. I want to make amends and move on," I said maintaining my calm.

"There is no way to make amends. You are a heartless and uncaring woman."

"How so?" I asked trying to keep the hurt out of my voice.

"You didn't mourn your brother," he replied in a tight voice. "You didn't shed one tear for him. How dare you dishonor his memory by coming back?"

What he said was partial true. When Nicholas died I was given a serious shock. I was still in a state of shock during Nicholas' funeral and was unable to cry. I wanted to cry. Oh God, how I wanted to cry, but could not. But over the years, I have shed many a tear in the night for my dear younger brother. I looked down at the floor.

"Can't even speak to deny it," Father jeered.

"There is nothing to deny. I didn't cry because I couldn't. If you knew anything about me, you would know why I couldn't. But you don't. You knew nothing about me and you knew absolutely nothing about Nicholas."

"Silence woman! How dare you insinuate that I knew nothing about my own son!"

"What caused the scar on Nicholas' left shoulder?" I asked, sharply.

"What scar? He had no scar."

"Oh yes he did. He got it when he was playing in the rose bushes. He was seven years old and you were in India. If you were around you would have known that. Mother and I were scared to death when he came back into the house bleeding. Mother nearly fainted away at the sight of it. If Dr. Prescott hadn't assured her that Nicholas would live, I do not care to think of what may have happened."

"I had no idea," Father whispered quietly.

"You spent more time with your stallion than you did your own children. You didn't even know about when Nicholas spirited Hadrian out of the stables just three months before you came home."

"He did what?!"

"He thought he could ride Hadrian. He wanted to impress you when you came home. Fortunately, MacDougal found the stall was empty and went looking for them."

"MacDougal should have let him ride the horse. He was old enough."

"He wasn't big enough. Hadrian was a magnificent thoroughbred that towered over Nicholas, who was only twelve. Hadrian could have bucked Nicholas off at anytime if MacDougal hadn't gone after them. But you never knew. Nicholas begged Mother not to tell you. He wanted so much to please you. He wanted you to see one of his cricket games."

"Cricket game? Nicholas played cricket?"

"Yes. He was such a natural athlete and leader. All the other boys on his team listened to him and followed his lead. I am convinced that he would have become the captain of his team if he had lived. But you were never knew that either. Nicholas often would ask me where you were. He idealized you. He wanted to be just like you. He wanted to join the army and become an officer and a leader like you!"

I turned on my heel and walked out of his study. I heard Father's voice shouting at me. "Be gone from my house, woman!"

I didn't leave the house. I wasn't finished with my father. Instead I ran up the staircase as fast as my skirts would allow me. I flew down a passageway and to the door of my old room.

It was just as I had remembered it, although somewhat dustier than before. At the foot of my old bed stood a truck. I took the hidden key from it's hiding place from the under part of my bed frame and unlocked the truck.

The truck was full of treasures I left behind when I left. My old stuffed bear, my childhood quilt, and other treasure. With in the folds of my quilt were the many journals that Nicholas and I kept as children. I grabbed a basket and gently placed the leather bound volumes in it.

I walked down the stairs with the basket tucked under my arm. Father was out of his study, leaning heavily on his cane. Mother and Sherlock had also appeared. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I stopped in front of my father.

"These should help you get to know your children better." I set the basket at his feet.

"What are they?"

"My journals as well as Nicholas'. He wrote in it everyday. I believe you'll notice that the pages of my later journals are stained with tear drops."

"Why should I bother reading them? They won't change what happened."

"No they won't. But they will help you get to know a son that you didn't know at all."

"I did know him! He was my son!"

"No, he wasn't! He was a boy without a father just as I was a girl without a father. Do you want to keep pushing the only child you have left away? Do you want to be there for some of the most momentous events in my life? My marriage? The birth of my children? Or are you going to push me and my family away until the end of your days?!"

Father said nothing. He simply stared at the journals in front of him. When he finally looked up, he gave me the coldest stare I had ever seen in my life.

"Get out!" he said, tightly but softly.

"Rest to sure, I will." I brushed past my father towards the door. I heard Sherlock's steps behind me as I put on my coat.

"Emma, are you alright?" he asked.

"How can anybody be alright with a man like that for a father?" I asked in return as I tucked my gloves on sharply. I was very angry and very hurt.

We returned to North Riding and I shut myself up in my room. I didn't go down to dinner that night. Instead I sat in my window seat staring out the window. Outside my window was the tree that Nicholas had fallen from. Sherlock came up later with something for me to eat.

"Did you tell Uncle Siger and Aunt Violet what happened today?" I asked taking a sip of tea.

"Yes. You know that Aunt Eleanor wanted to see you today."

"I wanted to see her too. But I couldn't stand being in that house one more moment."

"She had an idea that you would say that. I told her we were staying through at least the twelfth night."

"I have an idea that you want to stay for Calantha's wedding?"

"I'd like to. But if you're uncomfortable with the idea…"

"No. I think it's a brilliant idea."

The next few days were a bit of a blur. I was fitted for a ball gown and helped Aunt Violet, Virginia, and Calantha with the last few details that were always involved with major social events. Calantha's fiancée arrived two days before the ball.

He was a handsome man. He had very light red hair and blue eyes. But he was a bit nervous. When Calantha first introduced him to Sherlock and me, he was hand was shaking as he shook hands with his perspective brother-in-law.

The day of the ball finally arrived. The house was in frenzy. The servants were kept very busy, as was the family. The ladies helped with some of the lighter cleaning while the men helped with heavy lifting that needed to be done. I eventually found myself minding Thomas and Diana while their nursemaid tidied up the nursery. Sherlock came to help me.

Thomas was very much marveled at the very presence of his famous uncle. Thomas sat in Sherlock's lap as he listened to Sherlock regale him with a tale of his adventure. I made sure that it was an adventure that had nothing to do with murder, violence or anything that would frighten him.

Diana sat quite comfortable in my own lap. She played with my locket, not listening to her uncle. She soon fell asleep, as did Thomas. By that time the nursemaid had finished her cleaning. Sherlock and I carried the sleeping children to the nursery and laid them down.

"You looked quite content," I replied as we walked out of the nursery. "You'll make a wonderful father someday."

"And you'll make an equally wonderful mother."

The guests began to arrive around 7 o'clock. Calantha came to help me dress. She laced up my corset, pinned up my hair, and buttoned up the back of my dress. I returned the favor by doing the same for her.

"You look beautiful, Calantha," I replied. She was wearing a white dress since she was to marry at the end of the month.

"As do you. I think that Sherlock's jaw will drop out when he sees you."

My own dress was an emerald green. Calantha had commented earlier that it brought out shades of green in my eyes. We applied a light layer of cosmetics before walking to the landing where Aunt Violet and Virginia were waiting.

"You know Emma if I didn't know better, I would have said your eyes were green. You look beautiful, dear."

"Thank you Aunt Violet. Has my mother arrived yet?"

"Look over there," Aunt Violet turned my attention to the dance floor. I saw my mother there.

She was a bit older than I remembered. She red hair was flecked with gray. But her brown eyes still sparkled. I noticed that her red dress was trimmed with black to indicate that she was mourning. She had said she would mourn Nicholas for the rest of her days. She glided across the dance floor with Uncle Siger, smiling all the while.

"Excuse me, girls," Aunt Violet said. "I have a mind to dance with my husband."

Aunt Violet walked down the stairs and was announced by Simpson. Uncle Siger looked up and went to meet his beloved wife. Calantha and Virginia followed Aunt Violet's lead and were met at the bottom of the stairs by the men that they loved. I took a deep breath before making my own descent.

"Miss Emma Callaway!" Simpson called out.

So many eyes were on me. I felt like crawling out of my skin. I scanned the room for a familiar face. I finally laid eyes of Sherlock. As Calantha had predicted his jaw had dropped. When he noticed that I had seen him, he closed his mouth and moved towards me. A group of single men had congregated at the bottom of the stairs. Sherlock managed to get in the front. He drew out his hand to me and I took it.

"Thank you," I replied, quietly. "They are like piranhas."

"They are indeed. They all wanted to catch your eye."

"My eye is already caught. I have my eye on a certain consulting detective."

"I wonder who that could be." Music began to play a waltz. "May I have this dance Miss Callaway?"

"I would be delighted Mr. Holmes."

We danced for most of the ball. I could hear voices chattering as we danced. I knew they were talking about Sherlock and myself. I didn't care what they were saying. I was happy and in love. I noticed that as Aunt Violet and Uncle Siger danced, Aunt Violet was whispering into Uncle Siger's ear. Throughout the night I danced with Sherlock, Sherrinford, Uncle Siger, and Captain Bailey. After I finished dancing with Captain Bailey, my mother came out onto the dance floor.

"I want to talk to you," she whispered in my ear. I followed Mother to a quite corner of the ballroom.

"What did you want to talk about?" I asked.

"About this afternoon. I was so proud of you. It has been so long since anyone stood up to your father."

"I know. I was surprised that the argument lasted as long as it did. Father used to always stop arguments before they even started."

"I know, my dear. I know. Your father is a hard man. He is not used to someone contradicting him. But don't let that ruin your evening. Go and enjoy yourself."

I found Sherlock nearby and we engaged in another round of dancing.

Calantha's wedding went through without a hitch. Sherlock and I sat with Aunt Violet and Mother. Sherrinford and Virginia were in the wedding party. Calantha looked so lovely. Uncle Siger walked with her down the aisle. He sat with us for the ceremony.

Calantha and Captain Bailey left that evening for their wedding trip. Sherlock and I returned to London the following day. Sherlock was becoming anxious to get back to the criminal element of London. We didn't know at the time that our lives were about to change forever.


	11. New Beginnings

EMMA-

Sherlock and I settled back into life in Baker Street after being away for nearly five months. Mrs. Hudson was very happy to see us for she had been quite lonely without us. We were both very happy to be home.

March was extraordinarily bitter in 1889. It became so harsh that I had to put extra blankets on all the beds in the house. Watson became extremely busy from a late epidemic of influenza and Sherlock was engaged in several cases that Scotland Yard had fallen behind with while we were away. Mary, Mrs. Hudson, and I tried to help one another with various forms of housework.

I was in the kitchen on one of the rawest days, when the doorbell rang. Mrs. Hudson wasn't at home at the moment and neither was Sherlock. I was in the middle of hanging the linens out to dry in the kitchen. I quickly finished hanging a towel and went to the front door. When I opened the door, I was very much surprised to see standing on the doorstep stood Mr. Godfrey Norton with a small girl in his arms.

Mr. Norton looked somewhat shabby. His clothes were faded and frayed. His hair and mustache hadn't been trimmed for sometime. The little girl looked about two years old. She had dark brown hair and blue eyes. Her clothes were also frayed. The stings on her bonnet were coming unraveled. Unpleasant times had fallen on Mr. Norton, but where was Irene?

"Is Emma Callaway here?" Mr. Norton asked.

"I am she. Do come in Mr. Norton."

I closed the door behind him and led him upstairs to the sitting room. Mr. Norton sat down in Watson's old chair while I sat in Sherlock's. The girl sat in Mr. Norton's lap and pulled at Mr. Norton's frayed cravat. "Stop it Hannah," he said gently to the girl as he looked up at me. "I'm sorry for not recognizing you, Miss Callaway, but I didn't expect you to be dressed as you are."

I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing an old cotton dress and apron. My hair was covered by a mobcap. Loose strands of hair poked out from the cap. "I must admit that I am not dressed for entertaining company. But what brings you here, Mr. Norton and where is Irene?"

Mr. Norton looked down. "Miss Callaway, I have a great favor to incur on you and Mr. Holmes. I should like to explain it when you are both here." The girl, whom Mr. Norton addressed as Hannah, yawned and rubbed her eyes with her little fists. "Is there somewhere I could lay her down?"

"Yes." I stood and opened Sherlock's bedroom door. "You can put her down in here."

Mr. Norton gently laid Hannah down and covered her with the throw rug at the foot of the bed. He kissed her forehead before following me back into the sitting room.

"Beautiful girl. Your daughter I assume."

"Yes. My daughter, Hannah."

"She has your eyes and Irene's hair. But Mr. Norton where is Irene? I haven't seen or heard from her in two years. Has something happened to her?"

"I have no wish to cause you grief, Miss Callaway, but I fear there is no alternative. Irene passed away as a result of giving birth to Hannah."

I felt my eyes widened with surprise. Irene was dead. My jaw trembled as I suppressed tears. I swallowed them before I spoke. "Oh, Mr. Norton, I had no idea. Please allow me to convey my condolences."

"Thank you."

At that moment I heard the front door open and Sherlock's footsteps upon the stairs. As the footsteps grew louder and the sitting room door began to open, Mr. Norton stood as Sherlock passed over the threshold. Sherlock was surprised to find Mr. Norton in our sitting room but greeted him cordially and asked him to resume his seat. Sherlock himself took a seat on the couch.

"Now, Mr. Norton, what brings you to Baker Street?" Sherlock asked.

"I have told Miss Callaway that I have a great favor to incur upon you both. My story begins after my marriage to Irene. You can imagine our surprise and joy when we learned that we were to expect a baby the following March. We settled in Italy and prepared for the child. The blessed day came and we were the proud parents of a healthy baby girl whom we named Hannah. But it was a bittersweet day. Irene's health was severely weakened by the labor and two months later she died."

"My condolences," Sherlock replied. "Please continue."

"Well, after Irene's death I took to drink. Irene's death was an exceptionally hard on me and it eased my suffering temporarily. But as a result of the drink, my fortunes declined sharply."

"What of your daughter?" I asked.

"She remained in my housekeeper's care. Eventually it became hard for me to maintain the housekeeper, in fact it became hard for me to provide for my daughter and cover my medical expenses."

"Medical expenses?"

"Yes, Miss Callaway. The drink has ruined my health and the doctor informs me that it has come to a point where there is little doubt that I will be dead within a year. I want to be sure that my daughter will be cared for when I am gone."

Sherlock leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his finger intertwined. "You wish to leave your daughter in the care of Miss Callaway and myself."

"Yes. I know it is a great deal to ask, but Irene would have wanted it. She always talked of the both of you with the highest regard. I know that Hannah will be in safe hands."

Both Sherlock and I were silent for many moments. I couldn't be sure of what Sherlock was thinking, but I knew one thing. Hannah Norton was going to stay here at Baker Street if I had anything to say about it.

"Emma, could I see you privately in the kitchen?" Sherlock said at last.

"Of course," I replied rising from my seat.

"We will be back shortly, Mr. Norton."

"I understand. I will wait for you," Mr. Norton replied his hands trembling.

Sherlock followed me down to the kitchen. The linens I had been washing were still hanging up. The whole kitchen felt damp and humid. Closing the behind him, Sherlock turned to me.

"She can't stay here," he said, flatly.

"And why not?" I asked a bit surprised

"I'm not going be responsible for her. I haven't the patience."

"Nobody said you had to," I said trying to keep calm. "If need be I will care for her by myself."

"And you think that you could handle caring for a two-year-old child?" he asked very coldly.

"I'd rather care for her by myself than have her living on the streets!"

"She could live in an orphanage."

"An orphanage?! Sherlock Holmes how can you be so cold to a child? You showed such kindness and tenderness to your niece and nephew. Why can't you show such kindness and tenderness to this little girl? Do you have any idea what will happen to her when she turns eighteen? She'll either be sent to a workhouse or worse -- she'll be working the streets as a prostitute! I will not allow such a thing to happen to her. Not while I live and breathe! If you won't help me, so be it. I understand perfectly. I am perfectly willing to do it alone!" Sherlock looked away from me. He went to the kitchen window. Looking out of it, he leaned against the counter. He then bowed his head and stared into the empty sink. He was thinking.

I knew if he gave Hannah a chance, he would love her, just as much as I did. I hardly knew Hannah, but seeing her without a mother and soon without a father had raised a maternal instinct in me. I wanted to care for her. I wanted to love her as a mother.

"Sherlock?" I asked tentatively, putting my hand on his shoulder.

"You won't have to do it alone," he said quietly. He turned to me. He cupped his hand over my cheek. "Forgive me, my dear, dear Emma. I didn't mean to be so cold hearted towards the child or you. I'll help you with her, in anyway I can. But I must admit that I know absolutely nothing about raising children."

"Neither do I. But Mrs. Hudson knows. Heaven knows she's raised a few. She can help us along."

"I'm sure she would. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have suggested that we send her to an orphanage."

I threw my arms around his neck. "Thank you, my dearest. Thank you. I couldn't bear seeing her in the care of total strangers."

"We are strangers to her."

"Not to her parents. If they trust us with her, we are as close as family."

He took my hand and kissed it. "Come, let us go and inform Mr. Norton of our decision."

"Yes, let us go. Sherlock do you realize what this makes us?"

"No."

"This makes you a father and me a mother."

"What? But we're not married."

"It doesn't matter. We are going to be caring for a child who needs us. She may not be related to us by blood, but spiritual she is ours."

"She's not ours legally either," Sherlock muttered to himself out loud. He stroked his chin. He was thinking again.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, my dear. Come along. Mr. Norton is waiting."

Sherlock led me up the stairs by the hand and opened the sitting room door for me. Mr. Norton now had his daughter in his lap. She played with her dress. She looked up at Sherlock and reached up. Sherlock gently reached down and took the child from her father. He balanced her in his arm. She gripped his nose with her tiny hand.

"Have you decided?" Mr. Norton asked.

"We have Mr. Norton," Sherlock said, passing Hannah off to me. "You may be assured that your daughter Hannah will be perfectly safe in our care."

Mr. Norton stood up and shook hands with Sherlock. "Thank you. Thank you. I am eternally grateful to you both. I know that she will be safe with you. Now I must go. The longer I stay, the harder it will be to say good-bye to Hannah."

He reached for his daughter and I handed her to him. He squeezed her gently and kissed her curls. "Good-bye," he said in a broken voice. Tears dripped from his eyes onto his daughter's dress. He handed Hannah back to me and a box to Sherlock. "Now that it is done, I will not impose upon you further. Good day to the both of you."

He turned to go, but Sherlock stopped him. "Mr. Norton surely you will accept our hospitality. Please let us help you. You may stay with us until it is your time."

"I thank you, but no. You have done me a greater service by agreeing to care for my daughter. You have my thanks. Good-bye and good fortune to you both."

With that Mr. Godfrey Norton put on his hat and walked out of our sitting room. Sherlock and I followed him to the front door with little Hannah still balanced on my hip. We watched him walk out of 221B and disappear into the thick, bitter March fog. We would learn several months later that Mr. Godfrey Norton died from poison of the liver brought on by excessive drinking.

We walked back into the sitting room, where Sherlock opened the box that Mr. Norton had given him. It contained Hannah's birth certificate, photographs of Irene and Mr. Norton, their wedding rings, Irene's locket, and a number of other treasured possessions with the instruction that Hannah be given the items when she was old enough.

Mrs. Hudson returned shortly after Mr. Norton had left. She immediately took a liking to the newest addition to our Baker Street commune. Her first order was to boil some hot water to give the child a bath. When it was ready, I stripped Hannah of her garments and gently placed the girl in the water.

By the time her bath was over, I was very wet indeed. Hannah seemed to enjoy splashing me with water. Mrs. Hudson informed me that small children loved to splash in the bath. Although I had an unintended bath of my own, Hannah was clean. Mrs. Hudson brought clean smock for the girl. I dressed Hannah and took her back upstairs.

The days following Hannah's arrival were extremely different. Mrs. Hudson spent the better part of the time gathering things that Sherlock and I would need to care for Hannah. A crib was purchased and placed in my room. It was agreed that Hannah was to sleep in my room so that I could care for her should she need me in the night. Clothes, toys and books were also purchased.

Since we now had a child in the house, I asked Sherlock to move his chemical station upstairs to the spare room that was down the hall from my room. He readily agreed. In fact he moved a majority of his equipment that he used in his work from his room to the upstairs room that had now become his study. I told him it wasn't necessary for him to do that, but he shook his head and said that it was necessary.

Watson had come by with Mary to meet Hannah and to give her an examination to make sure that she was healthy. He said that Hannah was a little underweight for a child of her age, but that was to be expected since she wasn't far from living on the streets. He said that it was nothing to be too concerned about and she would gain weight as she eats more.

Hannah couldn't speak well just yet, but she found ways of letting Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson or me know what she wanted. She would point to the item and try to say the word as best as she could. She also had a noise for each of us to indicated she which one of us she wanted. She soon learned how to say my name, but since Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson's name were more difficult for her, she continued to use her special noise for each of them. But Hannah had another noise…one that she made when she wanted her father.

Hannah would cry and say 'pappy', when she wanted her father to hold her. I would then pick her up and hum her a lullaby, sending her to sleep without much of a fuss. I knew someday that Sherlock and I would have to tell Hannah what happened to her mother and father, but that day was still far into the future.

It was about five weeks after Hannah had come to us that I walked into the sitting room to find Sherlock standing in front of the fire, waiting for me. I had just put Hannah to bed and was ready to sit down for some dinner. Sherlock and I had fallen into the habit of not dining until after Hannah had put to bed. It seemed to be the only time we had together these days. He would be off solving whatever mystery had come his way, while I spent the better part of the day watching Hannah and helping Mrs. Hudson with housework. Hannah had taken to helping with the housework. She liked catching the dust bunnies that were under the furniture and in the corners. Getting Hannah to help pick up her toys was a bit more of a challenge. I resolved to bluff her into it. She had to help me put all of her toys away or all the fairies came to steal them away to fairyland. She was quick to hand me her toys so I could put them in their proper place after that.

I sat down at the table and Sherlock followed suit. I unfolded my napkin and placed it in my lap. Sherlock and I made up our plates and began to eat.

"Hannah got to sleep alright?" he asked.

"Yes. She'll sleep through the night I hope. She's been having nightmares. Its come to a point where I've had to bring her into bed with me in order to get her to calm down."

"I know. I've heard her crying from down here. Emma, do you regret our taking Hannah in?"

"It has made me a bit tired chasing her around the house. But do I regret it? No. In fact I would give it up for anything in the world. Do you regret taking her in?"

"No. In fact Hannah has helped me come to a decision about something that has been weighting on my mind for a while now."

"Really? About what?"

"About you, Emma."

"Me?" I asked putting down my fork.

"Yes. Emma, these last six months have been the best six months of my life, especially the last five weeks of it. I have felt that I have people to care for that care for me in return. But it is not enough. I still feel that my life is incomplete. You remember what I said about Hannah not being ours legally?"

"Yes."

"Well I want to make it legal. I think that we should adopt Hannah."

"Sherlock, we can't do that. You know as well as I do that the law won't give a child to an unmarried couple, no matter how capable they are. The only way we can adopt Hannah is if we…" my voice trailed off. Something was preventing me from continuing. It was the look that Sherlock was giving me.

"Get married." he finished for me. He stood and came around to me. He took my hand and helped me to stand. He cupped his hands around mine and held them to his chest. "Emma. You and Hannah mean more to me than anything else. For the last two and a half years you have been the closest thing to a wife I have ever had. Hannah has become the closet thing to a daughter I've ever had. I want now to make the three of us a complete family emotionally, spiritually, and legally." He reached into his jacket pocket. From it he drew a ring. I gasped when I saw it. It was a simply beautiful band of gold with a small pearl set in it. He knelt down on one knee and took my left hand. "Will you, Emma Grace Amelia Callaway, allow me to be your husband?" He slid the ring onto my finger and waited for my answer.

I took his hands and helped him up. He held the ends of my fingers in his hands and looked at the ring. I looked at the ring as well. I felt a drop fall on the back of my hand and another and another. I realized that the drops were tears falling from my eyes. Sherlock also saw them.

"My dear. Have I upset you?"

"No. To be honest, I don't know why I'm becoming so teary. As to your earlier question, I can think of no other man whom I would rather spend the rest of my life with than you. I accept you as a husband. But will you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, accept me as a wife?"

"I do, until death do we part."

He leaned down and caressed my lips. I circled my arms around his neck and kissed him back. We broke the kiss and just held each other. We were getting married.

We wrote home the next day to inform our families of our engagement. Thanks to the wonders of the British telegraph system, we received responses that day. Sherlock's family was pleased, as was my mother. However I received a letter from my father demanding that I break off the engagement: the letter promptly placed in the fire.

We decided to have the wedding as soon as possible. June was the best time we felt, since my birthday was that month and I wanted the wedding to be outside, provided the weather held.

Two weeks after our engagement, Sherlock, Hannah, and I were returning from a walk in the park, only to be informed that two women were in the sitting room. We were very surprised to find our mothers waiting for us.

"Our children get engaged and they don't expect a visit from us," Aunt Violet said, when we asked what they were doing here. "Eleanor and I have some wonderful ideas for the wedding. Now Emma, do you have a dress yet?"

"No."

"You have one now," Mother said. "Go look in your room dear."

Sherlock picked up Hannah and followed me up to my room. Our mothers were right behind him wearing the smiles that almost made me nervous. I began to wonder if Mother and Aunt Violet had been planning this for years. When I opened my door, my breath was taken away. Before me was my mother's wedding dress.

In was a cream colored dress with lace for sleeves. Lace was sewn onto the neckline. It had a moderately long train and upon my pillow laid the veil.

"Oh Mother. It is beautiful. Thank you so much."

"My dear. This is your wedding. It is to going to be one of the most important days of your life. Violet and I want to make it special."

"Just don't make it too big," Sherlock said from the doorway.

"Oh don't worry about it, Sherlock. Eleanor and I have everything under control. But who is this little angel in your arms?" Aunt Violet asked reaching for Hannah. "Wouldn't you and Diana make just the prettiest little flower girls?"

"Mother, Aunt Violet. This is Hannah. Hopefully you'll both be able to call her granddaughter someday."

"She's not yours, is she?" Mother asked, worriedly.

"Oh no. No, no. Her parents were friends of ours. Her mother died shortly after she was born and her father is dying or maybe is dead now. He brought her here to be looked after. We hope to adopt her after we've married."

"Whether or not you have legally adopted her, she will always be one of my granddaughters," Aunt Violet said, passing Hannah to my mother.

"And she will be one of mine too," Mother replied bouncing Hannah up and down.

"Emma, do you think that our mothers are trying to drop subtle hints to us?" Sherlock asked.

"I rather think they are. You both can't expect grandchildren from us within our first year of marriage."

"And why not?" Mother asked. "Do you know how long I've waited for grandchildren?"

"Mother. Sherlock isn't here for most of the day. He goes out and sometimes doesn't come home until after midnight. There have been times where he leaves for weeks on end." Mother's face fell as she put Hannah down. "But I can guarantee that you will have more grandchildren. Just not right away."

"Of course. But we have another gift for you my daughter. Actually for both of you."

Aunt Violet took a box from her handbag. Inside the box was a ring. The band was solid gold. There were engravings all around the band and tiny diamond chips inlayed in the gold. "It was your grandmother's wedding ring," Mother explained. "The diamonds came from Sherlock's great-grandmother's wedding ring."

"It is exquisite. What do you think, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at the ring. He took my hand and slid it on my finger. "I think that it suits you very nicely."

"I think so too. What do you think Hannah?"

Hannah took my hand and looked at the ring. "Vewy pweety," she replied.

"I think that it has received unanimous approval," Sherlock said.

Taking off the ring, I handed it back to Aunt Violet. "Now, what time in June did you want to have the wedding?" Aunt Violet asked, putting the ring in the box and back into her handbag.

Mother and Aunt Violet took tea with us and continued to talk about the wedding. Sherlock was visibly uneasy, but he said nothing. I knew he was nervous, as was I. We took Mother and Aunt Violet to the train station a short while after tea. Hannah came with us and the three of us watched the train roll away towards Yorkshire.

Hannah yawned and snuggled against Sherlock shoulder.

"We should take her home and put her to bed. She's had a busy day," I whispered into Sherlock's ear.

He nodded. We found a cab and returned to Baker Street. Hannah was fast asleep by the time we arrived. Sherlock carried her up to my room. He watched in wonder as I got Hannah ready for bed. I was about to put her in her crib, when Sherlock reached for her.

"May I put her to bed?" he asked.

I smiled and gently handed him Hannah. He laid Hannah in the crib and tucked the blanket around her little body. Sherlock bent down and kissed Hannah's forehead before following me down to the sitting room. It was little moments like this that helped me keep my sanity in the coming weeks.


	12. Wedding Bells Are Ringing

Seasons greetings everyone! Sorry I have updated in a while, but I've been busy. I hope that you all enjoy this chapter. The next chapter should be along shortly (shortly meaning whenever I get it back from my beta. I love you georgie d!) Anyway enough of this banter. On with the story!

-EMMA-

As the weeks went by, invitations for our wedding went out and June 11th drew closer and closer. The last two weeks in May, Hannah and I traveled to North Riding in order to help oversee the preparations. Since Sherlock and Watson were engaged on a case, they, as well as Mary, would follow us the next week.

The train ride to Yorkshire was hectic. Hannah, being two-years-old, was full of energy. She bounced about the compartment looking at everything. She almost got out and tried to run down the corridor, but I grabbed her before she got out the door. She didn't settle down even then. She continued to try and escape from the compartment.

I was never so happy to hear the sound of the train's whistle as it pulled into the station. I opened the door of the compartment and was helped out by a porter. I turned and picked Hannah up.

"Emma!"

I turned and saw Uncle Siger on the platform. He came over to us and took Hannah from me while I pushed loose strands of my hair out of my face.

"A little frazzled Emma?"

"Yes. Hopefully by the time we get to North Riding she'll be ready for her nap."

"Uh-ah," Hannah said. "I play all day."

"Oh really?" Uncle Siger asked. "You know that there's someone at my home that would love to meet you."

"Who?" Hannah asked.

"Her name is Diana and she's about your age."

"Weally?"

"Oh yes. Shall we go meet her?"

"Yes."

I smiled as Uncle Siger handed me into the carriage. Uncle Siger helped Hannah into the carriage. She climbed into my lap as Uncle Siger climbed in the carriage. The coachman whipped up the horses and we were off.

Hannah had never been to the English countryside. She stared out the window as the Yorkshire country passed by. She pointed to animals, buildings, and people and asked who or what they were. Uncle Siger answered her questions with the same patience that he had shown me when I was a child.

By the time we reached North Riding, Hannah was still full of energy. Uncle Siger couldn't help but smile as Hannah ran about the driveway. I could only shake my head. The front door opened and Aunt Violet stepped out with Diana behind her.

Diana and Hannah locked eyes. Hannah immediately came to me and took my hand.

"Who that?" she asked as she pointed to Diana.

"That's Diana. Why don't you go and say hello?"

Hannah let go of my hand and walked over to Aunt Violet. Diana shrank behind Aunt Violet's skirts.

"Hello," Hannah said to Diana.

"Hello," Diana said in a small, quiet voice.

"My name is Hannah. What's yours?"

"Diana. That's Miss Callaway isn't it, Grandmamma?"

"Yes, sweetling. Well come in all of you," Aunt Violet called to Uncle Siger and me. "We have a wedding to plan."

Hannah followed Aunt Violet and Diana into the house while Uncle Siger and I brought the rear.

"More like your mother and my wife have planned it all,' Uncle Siger whispered into my ear.

The moment I walked into the house, I felt like I was going to faint. There were boxes everywhere. Some boxes opened and overflowing with packaging material, while others were still sealed. The staff was bustling about the entryway and the main hall.

"What is all of this?" I asked Aunt Violet.

"This is all for your wedding, dear. Eleanor and I took the liberty of making a few trips to London in the last few weeks. Picking out china patterns, fabric colors, flowers, and arranging for the refreshments for the guests."

"You two have been busier than bees in a beehive. I thought that Sherlock and I made it clear that this was not to be a large wedding. We wanted it to be small."

"Emma, you can't expect the children of country squires to get married and not have a huge fuss made about it," Aunt Violet said.

"I think I need to sit down."

"Of course, dear," Aunt Violet said. "Martha, would you take the girls to the nursery?"

The nursemaid, Martha, nodded and took Diana by the hand. Hannah was unsure of what to do. She looked at me. I nodded and motioned for her to go with Martha. Hannah went to Martha and took her other hand. As the girls went up to the nursery, Uncle Siger, Aunt Violet, and I went into the parlor.

"I never realized that taking care of a two-year-old was so trying. How did you do it?" I asked falling, rather than sitting on the couch.

"It wasn't easy," Uncle Siger said.

"It never is," Aunt Violet said in agreement. "Every child is different. Sherrinford was a very independent child. Calantha was a very social child. Mycroft was a lonely child. Sherlock was like his brothers but he was a bit more sociable than Mycroft."

"I suppose that is true. I remember Nicholas was a very active and adventurous boy. I was a more of a stay at home child," I mused.

"Emma, when is Sherlock supposed to be here? I thought he would come down with you and Hannah," Aunt Violet asked.

"He'll be down sometime next week. He and Dr. Watson have loose ends to tie up in London. They'll come up with Dr. Watson's wife as soon as they have finished."

I couldn't wait until Sherlock came with Watson and Mary. Mother and Aunt Violet had continually bombarded me with the little details that seemed to go with planning a wedding. I vowed that if any children of mine got married, I would not be so meticulous about such things.

I had just walked into the main hall when Sherlock entered the house. Watson and Mary were flanked on either side of him. I practically ran into the arms of the man I loved.

"Emma, what's wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm just so happy to see you. All of you. You wouldn't believe what I have been through."

Before Sherlock could answer, Aunt Violet walked in.

"Oh Sherlock I'm glad you're here. Your bride and I have been at odds."

"Really? About what?"

"The location of the ceremony. Emma wants it in the garden. I want it on the front yard. What do you think?"

Sherlock thought for several moments. "I agree with Emma. The garden is large enough to accommodate the wedding party and guests."

"It's not big enough," Aunt Violet protested.

"Mother, how many people did you invite?" Sherlock asked.

"About 150 people."

"150!" Sherlock and I cried simultaneously.

"Of course," Aunt Violet said. "You don't expect Eleanor and me to neglect friends and close and distant relations."

"We would have preferred close friends and relations. Not all this pomp and circumstance," Sherlock said.

"Whether you two want it or not, there will be pomp and circumstance, mark my words," Aunt Violet replied. "Now about the engagement ball."

The engagement ball had been planned for the 10th of June. It would be the last time I would be able to see Sherlock before our wedding. We spent to better part of the ball together. At the end of the ball we parted at the top of the staircase with an innocent kiss, before we went to our separate bedrooms. I found Calantha and Virginia waiting for me in front of my bedroom door.

"What is this all about?" I asked.

"Virginia and I decided that you shouldn't be alone tonight," Calantha said. "Sherrinford and Mycroft are staying up with Sherlock."

"Mama!"

We turned to see Diana, Thomas, and Hannah coming from the direction of the nursery. Diana and Hannah were trying to keep up with Thomas, who was two years older than they. Diana and Thomas went to their mother, while Hannah came to me. I lifted Hannah up and balanced her on my hip.

"Mama. May we stay up with you and Papa?" Thomas asked Virginia.

Virginia looked to Calantha and me. "I don't see any harm in it," I said. "They probably fall asleep before the night is out."

"No we won't," Thomas said. "We're going to stay up all night."

"I'm sure you will Thomas," Calantha said. "Come on. You're going to go spend some time with Papa, Uncle Mycroft, and Uncle Sherlock."

Calantha took her nephew by the hand and walked with him to where the men were for the night. Virginia and I took the girls into my room. On my bed were three nightdresses. I recognized mine and took the other two to be Virginia's and Calantha's. Virginia and I dressed for bed and sat with the girls. Calantha returned a short time later.

"I hope after we're married Sherlock will relax a little. He's has been so busy lately, that I worry about his health. He keeps having to reassure me that he isn't working too hard, but I'm still worried that he'll have another break down." I didn't bother keeping the concern out of my voice as I spoke.

"Sherlock does have a tendency to overwork himself. I remember once while he was at school he overworked himself and became very ill. Mother was in a spin of worry." There was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" Calantha called.

"It's Mary."

Calantha opened the door for Mary who was also clad in her nightgown. "Is this a private party?" she asked.

"Do come in Mary," I said. "I'm glad to have a friend who isn't about to become a relative of mine." Calantha took a pillow from my bed and threw it at me.

"I see," said Mary. "John decided to go and stay up with Mr. Holmes. I thought I would come and offer you similar company."

"Thank you, Mary. I'm so nervous."

"We all are," Calantha said. "I must that I though that I'd never see the day that my baby brother would final settle down."

"Even I was surprised," Mary replied. "Mr. Holmes never struck me as a man who thought marriage was of any importance."

"I suppose that is true," I uttered. "But Sherlock and I have been through so much together these last two years that this union between us seemed to be."

"I should say so," Mary declared, "finding each other accidentally in the backstage area of the Savoy, the Irene Adler papers affair, the brawl at the Irish Rose…"

"Brawl?" Virginia asked in alarm.

"Please do not ask," I answered and nodded for Mary to continue.

"Tricking Mr. Holmes into going to Vienna, solving a mystery, finally admitting your feelings for one another, bringing me to Vienna to see John, and now adopting a child. I think, Emma, that the two of you were meant for each other."

"Mama," a little voice said from my lap.

I looked down at Hannah. She sat there and played with my engagement ring. She turned her head up to me. "Mama," she repeated.

I smiled and held the girl, who would one day be my eldest child, closer to my body. She yawned and snuggled against me. I looked over toward Virginia. Diana had also fallen asleep in her mother's lap. I couldn't help but yawn myself.

"I think sleep is in order for all of us," Virginia said, quietly. "We all have a big day ahead of us."

I nodded and laid back on my bed with Hannah snuggled against me. I felt the weight of a blanket draped over me as I fell deeper into the arms of Morpheus.

The next morning the entire household was up and about earlier than usual. The day promised to be sunny and warm. Birds chirped and bees hummed as the start of another summer day began. The sun shone on the grassy dew and gave the impression of diamonds covering the land.

Hannah and Diana were taken back to the nursery in order to get ready for the ceremony this afternoon. Virginia, Calantha, and Mary took their breakfast with me in my room. Promptly after breakfast they ordered me into the bathroom in order to bathe. They in the mean time began to dress themselves for the wedding.

When I immerged from the steaming bathroom, my three attendants immediately set upon me. Mary helped me into my corset while Virginia and Calantha laid out my dress and veil. After I was dressed, they set themselves to work on my hair.

There was a knock at my door. Mary and Virginia ducked me behind the changing screen, while Calantha answered the door.

"What are you two doing?" I asked.

"If it's your husband to be, he can't see you until the ceremony," Virginia said.

"And why not?"

"Because it is bad luck."

"Oh really you two. Calantha who is it?"

"It is your mother and soon to be mother-in-law," my future sister-in-law replied.

I stepped out from behind the screen. Mother and Aunt Violet were standing with Calantha by my window.

"Emma, my dear you look beautiful," Mother said, taking my hands.

"Thank you, Mother."

"Oh my God," Calantha cried motioning for me to come to the window. "Emma you should see this."

Mother, Virginia, Mary, and I went the window. Calantha pointed out the window towards the lawn. There were representatives from four different nations on the lawn of my soon-to-be-parents-in-law.

"Good Heavens!" Mary cried out.

"Who are they?" Virginia asked.

"Representatives from nations that Sherlock has helped. The Scandinavian royal family, The Bohemian royal family, the French government, and our own British government," I replied very irate.

"But, are they doing here?" Aunt Violet asked.

"I suspect that Mycroft might have had a hand in all of this. Calantha would you be so kind as to go and tell your dear brother that I wish to see his august personage at this very instant?"

Calantha nodded and left to fetch her brother. I paced up and down, occasionally stopping to look out the window. When the door opened and Sherlock walked in followed by Calantha and Mycroft.

"I'm sorry, Emma, but I couldn't stop him," Calantha said as Sherlock came up to the window.

"Oh forget the bad luck fairytale. All of you. I don't believe in it."

"And neither do I," Sherlock said. "Now what's this I hear about foreign diplomats doing at our wedding?" He shot a glance at his elder brother.

Mycroft didn't make eye contact with him or me. He simply stared out the window at the band of people outside. "I am afraid that it is a state secret of the highest priority," he replied.

"State secret my left boot!" I snapped. "Mycroft this marriage should have been kept a state secret. We only wanted family and friends at this ceremony, not the entire continent of Europe."

"My dear Emma it is far from the entire continent. Only a selected few countries that Sherlock has been kind enough to offer his services to."

I sank into a nearby chair with my head in my hands. "Oh Lord in heaven how much more complicated could this day get?"

"Mycroft is this all that you have done?" Sherlock asked. "Or this there, as I suspect there is, more?"

"The subject of your marriage did come up at a meeting with the queen," Mycroft stated still looking out the window.

"The queen?" the rest of shouted in unison.

"I'm afraid so. Nothing escapes Her Majesty's notice, especially when it comes to her most faithful of subjects. Sherlock, you and Emma have done many great services to your country."

"But I haven't done anything worth such a distinction," I protested.

"You made the queen laugh. Her Majesty remembers you from the Savoy theatre."

"Mycroft how could she know that Adeline Carmichael and I were the same person?"

"Your friend, Nigel Green, or should I say Michael Winters, has many influential relations in the country. His father, Lord Winters to say the least."

"But what does any of this have to do with our marriage?" Sherlock asked.

"The queen wanted to thank you, which is why she arranged for these delegates to be here today."

"Mycroft," Sherlock said with a cheeky smile. "You've just given away the state secret of the highest priority."

We all laughed heartily. Mycroft's eyes narrowed and kept looking out the window. "Sherlock I believe that we should leave your bride to finish her preparations," he replied in a gruff tone.

"You look gorgeous," Sherlock said quietly.

"Thank you," I kissed his cheek.

He smiled and kissed my forehead before following his brother out the door. Uncle Siger met his son at the door.

"Sherlock, we'll be ready to start soon," Uncle Siger said.

Sherlock nodded to his father. Uncle Siger moved to allow Sherlock to get by, before he came into my room.

"Emma," Mother said. "I wanted to tell you how proud of you I am. I think that you and Sherlock will have many long and happy years together."

"Thank you, Mother." I said wiping a tear from my eye.

"You seem sad, my child."

"I just wish that Father would put aside our differences to come and be at the wedding."

"Your father has always been a stubborn man. He's been that way since before we were married. Once he sets his mind to something, he'll stay with it."

"I somehow feel that he doesn't love me."

"He does love you. But he became a broken man after Nicholas' death and when you left. Emma, please don't be sad. This is supposed to be a happy day. You and Sherlock are beginning a new chapter of your lives today. Now let me see you smile." I looked up and smiled at her. "That's the daughter I remember raising."

"Emma it's time," Uncle Siger said.

I exhaled deeply and nodded. Mother filed out the door with Aunt Violet, Calantha, Mary, and Virginia, leaving Uncle Siger and I alone.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes. I am. Uncle Siger."

"My dear?"

"Thank you for giving me away." I kissed his cheek and he blushed.

"None of that. You should save that for my son."

I laughed. He put my veil over my face and offered me his arm. I picked my bouquet and took his arm. He opened the door for me and we were on our way.

I stepped out onto the lawn. So many familiar faces were in the seats. I could see Inspectors Gregson, Lestrade, Bradstreet, and Hopkins. The Baker Street Irregulars were there as well, in their very best, though they chaffed at being clean and dressed for the occasion. Mrs. Hudson sat with my mother and Aunt Violet. Members of my father's old regiment formed an aisle all the way down to the altar, where Sherlock stood waiting for me. Mycroft, Sherrinford, Watson, and little Thomas, who held the pillow upon which the rings lay, stood at his side. Calantha, Virginia, and Mary stood with Hannah and Diana on the left side of the altar.

"Who gives this woman to this man?" the vicar, the Reverend Chester Smythe-White asked.

"I, Sir Siger Holmes, this woman's godfather, do." Uncle Siger took my hand and gave it to Sherlock.

I took a step closer to the altar and began the next stage of my life. The vicar cleared his throat and opened his prayer book.

"Dearly beloved: we have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. God established the bond and covenant of marriage in creation, and our Lord Jesus Christ adorned this manner of life by his presence and first miracle at a wedding in Cana of Galilee. It signifies to us the mystery between Christ and his Church, and Holy Scripture commends it to be honored among all people.

The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy, for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity, and when it is God's will, for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord. Therefore marriage is not to be entered in unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which God instituted it.

The vicar looked out into the crowd. "Into this holy union William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Emma Grace Amelia Callaway now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married speak now, or else for ever hold your peace."

No one spoke. The vicar turned to Sherlock and me.

"I require and charge you both, here in the presence of God, that if either of you know any reason why you may not be united in marriage lawfully, and in accordance with God's Word, you do now confess it."

Neither Sherlock nor I said a word.

"Good," the vicar replied. He turned to me before continuing. "Emma, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," I said. The vicar turned to Sherlock.

"William, will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," Sherlock said. The vicar looked out towards to congregation.

"Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two in their marriage?"

A resounding "We will" flowed over us.

"May I have the rings please?" the vicar asked. Thomas stepped forward as proud as could be and presented the rings to the kindly old vicar. The vicar smiled as he took the rings from Thomas and patted the boy's head fondly. "Bless, O Lord, these rings to be a sign of the vows by which this man and this woman have bound themselves to each other, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

The vicar gave my ring to Sherlock and nodded for him to proceed. "Emma, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the Name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. With this ring," he said as he slid the ring onto my finger. "I do wed thee."

The vicar gave me Sherlock's ring and nodded to me. "Sherlock, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the Name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. With this ring," I slid the ring onto his finger. "I do wed thee."

The vicar cleared his throat again. "Now that William and Emma have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of the rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder."

We all murmured, "Amen."

"William you may kiss your bride."

Sherlock smiled. He lifted my veil over my head and kissed my lips gently. I could hear cheering from those who had witnessed our marriage. As we parted, Hannah escaped Calantha's hold of her and ran toward us. Sherlock scooped her up and balanced her in his arms. I took his free arm and the three of us walked up to the house.

There was a wedding luncheon for our family and those who remained after the ceremony. Sherlock and I sat a table with our parents, Mycroft, and the vicar. Hannah sat in my lap as I spooned food into her mouth.

"I understand that this little angel in Emma's lap is a potential granddaughter of mine," Uncle Siger said.

"That's right Father. Emma and I have plans to adopt her," Sherlock replied.

"It is a noble gesture that you two are undertaking," the vicar commented. "You will let us know how it turns out?"

" Of course, vicar," I replied. "Though I fear it will take some time for the papers to go through."

"Maybe not," Mycroft said quietly. He stood. "Everyone! May I have your attention please?" Everyone's eyes snapped to my brother-in-law. "Most of you may not be aware, but my brother, Sherlock, and his wife, Emma, have endeavored to adopt a child." He took Hannah from me. "This child, in fact. I have something that might speed things along." He took from his pocket a paper and handed it to Sherlock. Sherlock and I stood as he unfolded the paper.

"My God," Sherlock whispered.

"What is it?" Mother asked.

"Hannah's adoption papers. They've been filled out completely and dated to take effect tomorrow."

"What?" I asked taking the papers from Sherlock. "Mycroft how did you…"

"Emma, you should know that there are several people who owe me favors within my particular position in life. I simply called in a favor or two. All that is required now are the signatures of you and Sherlock."

"Mycroft, I have one question," Sherlock said.

"What is that, brother of mine?"

"Might I borrow a pen?"


	13. Of Joy And Of Sorrow

EMMA-

Spring came rather late in London. The snow didn't finish melting until May and the temperatures still dipped below the freezing point until about March. Hannah got very cold at night, so it didn't surprise Sherlock or me when she would climb into bed with us in the middle of the night. During the day, the temperatures would warm up and puddles would form in the streets. It was all I could do to keep Hannah from playing in the puddles in the tiny garden that was outside the kitchen door.

A year had gone by since I married Sherlock. After our wedding trip to Montpellier, we had settled back into our routines as we had always done. Sherlock was often at the Yard solving the cases that we depended on for our bread and butter. I spent my days doing housework and caring for Hannah. Evenings were a special time for the three of us. It was the only time, apart from mealtimes, that we were together. Hannah liked to climb into Sherlock's lap after her supper and sit while we talked. We usually waited to discuss serious matters until she was in bed.

Hannah's birthday came and went. She said she wanted one thing for her birthday, a little brother or sister. Her wish caused Sherlock and I to do some very serious thinking. We stayed up late that night talking about the possibility of having more children. We came to the decision that we would wait a little while longer before having children. That, however, was in March of 1890. By June of that same year, I was unwell.

I was feeling fatigued in the middle of the day. I was agitated and the mere sight of food made me ill. But I wasn't going to let that fact affect my work. Sherlock was worried that I was over working myself. I promised him that if I took to my bed, I would have him send for Watson.

In the latter part of June, I was out in the kitchen garden with Mrs. Hudson and Hannah drying and folding the laundry.

"Emma?" I heard Sherlock's voice call from the kitchen.

"In the garden!" I called back as Mrs. Hudson and I folded one of the bed sheets. Sherlock came out into the garden. He had his hat on his head and his stick in hand. "Where are you going?" I asked.

"I'm off the to Yard."

"What is it this time? Blackmail?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. A double homicide."

I knew that meant he would be in and out of the house until he solved the case. "Well then," I sighed. "Give my regards to the inspectors at Scotland Yard. I wish you all well on this case."

"I hope it goes well also. Emma, I don't know long this case will take or how often I'll be home. Are you sure you will be all right? I mean should you be doing housework? You're looking very pale."

Mrs. Hudson took the bed sheet from me. I bent down picked up a towel and began to fold it. "Truth be told," I said. "I was considering going to see Watson later today. I don't think there's anything seriously wrong, but I want to be sure."

"That's a wise decision. I'd better be off. I'll be home when I may be."

I nodded. He kissed me good-bye and patted Hannah on the head before going back into the house. I heard the front door open and close and his voice calling for a cab.

"I can finish up here, Mrs. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson offered.

"But Hannah…"

"Now, now, Mrs. Holmes. You care for so many, but don't forget to take care of yourself. I'll watch Hannah while you're away."

"Very well. But I'm not leaving until the laundry is finished."

Mrs. Hudson smiled and shook her head as she pulled a shirt out of the basket.

"I'm what?" I asked Watson in surprise.

Watson leaned forward as he sat opposite of me. He peered over his desk at me with an all-knowing twinkle in his eye. "You're pregnant, Emma," he repeated. "You seem surprised."

"I am really. Sherlock and I thought we would wait a while longer before we would start having children. I didn't think…oh I don't know what to think."

"Well I'll tell you what I think. I think it's perfectly marvelous. I can't think of two better people for a child to have as parents."

"Sherlock could probably think of a few."

"Emma?"

"Sherlock's reaction to this worries me. When Hannah first came to us, Sherlock suggested we send her to an orphanage."

"But he soon became attached to her. She's now Hannah Rebecca Martha Irene Norton-Holmes, your daughter. I don't think Holmes is going to throw one of his own children out on the streets."

"No, he wouldn't. But how do I tell him?"

"That I can't say. I'm sure you'll find away to tell him."

I sighed and cupped my hands in my lap. "Yes. I suppose I will. Watson?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any idea when the baby is due?"

"As near as I can estimate, you are about two months along. I'd say sometime in January is when you can expect to have the baby."

"Both you and Mary will be there when the baby is born?"

"Emma, both Mary and I will be there for you and for Holmes."

"Thank you, Watson. Thank you for everything that you have done for Sherlock and me."

"You are most welcome, Emma. You'll be telling Holmes when you get home."

"If he's home. He's at the Yard helping with a murder investigation. He doesn't know when he'll be home or how long the investigation will take."

"Emma, may I ask you something?"

"Of course"

"Do you wish that Holmes would be at home with you and the children more often?"

"I do. But, I can't ask him to give up his work. He's married to his work just as much as he's married to me."

"Have you two had disagreements lately?"

"Of course we have. Every good marriage has its disagreements. Lord knows that my parents had many disagreements. I'm sure that you and Mary have disagreements."

"I suppose that's true. Emma if you need anything, anything at all, you'll let Mary and me know."

"Of course. Well, I had better be going home. Mrs. Hudson is watching Hannah and I'm sure that there's work that Mrs. Hudson needs to do."

"Good-bye, Emma and good luck."

"Thank you."

Mrs. Hudson was overjoyed when I told her that I was expecting a baby. Hannah was equally excited. I tried to help Mrs. Hudson with some housework, but she wouldn't have it. She informed me that she was going to hire a maid, so that I might devote more time to my baby. I wasn't going to have any of that. We came to a compromise. While I was pregnant, I wasn't going to do any heavy physical labor. Once I had my baby and was well enough, I would do more work.

Evening rolled around and Sherlock had not returned from the Yard. As the clock struck 11 o'clock, I decided to go to bed. Now that I had a baby on the way, I had to begin to think of what would be good for the both of us. When I woke in the morning, Sherlock's side of the bed hadn't been slept in, but going into the sitting room, I found a rug on the couch. Sherlock must have come home and decided to sleep on the couch, rather than waking me up. Such behavior continued for about a week.

At the beginning of the second week, I sat in Sherlock's chair, letting down one of Hannah's skirts. She was growing, and all of her clothes needed refitting. Sherlock wasn't home very often. On the rare occasion that I did see him during the week, I tried to tell him about the baby. And every time I tried, he wasn't paying attention. He would be out of the door before I could tell him about his child. The sitting room door opened and Sherlock stepped in and threw his overcoat on the couch.

"I have the murderer within my grasp," he said.

"I'm happy for you," I said. "But that is an interesting greeting for your wife."

"I'm sorry, my dear. I can't stay very long. Lestrade is meeting me here, then we're off to catch the murderer. I've just come to retrieve my revolver and to see how you and Hannah were."

I couldn't tell him about the baby then or there. Telling him now would distract him. I plastered a smile on my face. "We're both fine, though I've been missing you. It's very lonely waking up in the morning and not seeing you laying there next to me."

He came over to me. He kissed my forehead gently. "I'll make it up to you. I promise. Now where's my revolver?"

"I think that it's in your desk drawer. Darling, I do need to talk to you."

He rummaged about his desk searching for his gun. "Yes, yes. Can we talk tomorrow morning?"

"I suppose so," I said with a sigh. I took a piece of paper from the notebook that was on the table next Sherlock's chair. I wrote him a note telling him about the baby. About that time, Lestrade walked in.

"Good evening, Mrs. Holmes," he said taking off his hat.

"Good evening, Inspector. I trust that your family is well."

"Very well, thank you for asking. Shall we be off, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock loaded his gun. " Yes, we shall."

I stood and took Sherlock's coat. I stuck the note in his pocket, before handing the coat to him. He put it on along with his hat. He kissed me good-bye and vanished into the dark hallway with Inspector Lestrade. Shortly after he left, I took to my bed for the night.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock asked the next morning, when I walked in the sitting room. He hadn't come to bed, but had slept on the couch again.

I pulled my dressing gown tighter around my body. "You've certainly had an interesting way of greeting me this week."

"Why didn't you tell me that you were pregnant?" he asked persistently.

"I tried. But you were so busy with your case, I didn't want to distract you."

"So you're going to have a baby?"

"No. _We're_ going to have a baby."

"When?"

"Sometime in January."

Sherlock simple stared at me for a moment. He stood and came to me. He looked down at me, before placing a hand on my belly. His face gave no sign of what he was thinking. I was worried. I feared that he wouldn't want the baby. His face suddenly softened.

"Our baby?" he whispered.

I nodded. "Our baby."

He smiled, before leaning down and caressing my lips with his. My fears dashed away as I snaked my arms around his neck and kissed him back. I felt him lift me off the ground as he deepened the kiss. We parted our kiss, but our foreheads still touched.

"I can't believe it," Sherlock whispered. "I'm going to be a father."

"You already are a father," I reminded him.

"I know, but I'm going to me a father for the first time as well as a second time. Do I really have to wait until January?"

"I'm afraid so. But who knows, the baby might be born on your birthday."

"I'd like that," he said with a smile.

"Mama," Hannah said coming out of her room. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Sherlock put me down as Hannah walked into the sitting room. "Papa!" She went to him and hugged his knees.

Sherlock lifted her up and kissed her cheek. "And how is my little honeybee this morning?" he asked.

"Good. Mama?"

"Yes, my child?"

"Is the baby here yet?"

Sherlock and I both laughed. "No, Honeybee, it's not," I said.

"When will it come?"

"Sometime after the New Year."

"I have to wait that long?"

"Yes, you do. We all do."

Summer faded into autumn and autumn into winter. As the seasons changed so did my body. My belly swelled as the baby grew bigger and bigger. Mother and Aunt Violet visited often with Uncle Siger as the months went on. On such visits, Uncle Siger would disappear with Sherlock. I knew they would go and meet Watson at his club and talk about various things. While they were gone, Mother and Aunt Violet would advise me in different ways to alleviate the discomfort my pregnancy caused me.

Moving about was always interesting. My back and feet would be sore from the extra weight. My housework was reduced to tasks such as mending and folding clothes. Mrs. Hudson had hired a maid named Penny Marsh. Penny became a valuable and loved member of our household. She was a golden haired, blue-eyed young woman, who was about sixteen years of age. She took on a lot of the housework that I had done before I was pregnant.

As December came about, Sherlock, Hannah and I prepared to journey to Yorkshire for the holidays. Watson and Mary were also coming with us. Since the baby was due at anytime, Watson wanted to be on hand for when it came time for me to deliver.

We arrived at North Riding three days before Christmas. The manor had been decked with holly and evergreen. There was a tree in the parlor, which presents already lay beneath. Diana and Thomas were sitting by the tree, putting boxes up to the ears in order to see if anything made a sound. Sherrinford and Virginia sat near by watching. Hannah immediately went to sit with her cousins while Sherlock, Watson, Mary, and I sat with Sherrinford and Virginia.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Sherrinford asked as soon as I sat down.

I raised my eyebrow at my brother-in-law. "What kind of a question is that?" I asked. "You know that we have no way of knowing."

"You must have some guess."

"Sherlock and I will love our baby not matter what it is. Besides it will be a nice Christmas surprise for all of us."

"Indeed. But you both must be tired, especially you Emma," Virginia said.

"I admit that I am. The baby doesn't seem to let me rest for one moment. I think that this one is taking after its father in this aspect."

"What are you implying Emma?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing," I said with a yawn. "Mary, would you help me upstairs?"

"Of course." Mary stood and came over to me. She reached down and helped me up.

We walked out of the parlor and into the hall. Aunt Violet met us as she came out of the billiard room. She seemed worried.

"Oh good. Emma, you're here."

"What's wrong, Aunt Violet?" I asked.

"Emma, I need to tell you something. I didn't tell you when I last saw you because I was afraid of the way you would take the news. With the baby and all, you have enough to worry about."

"Let's go upstairs. My back and feet are terribly sore and I need to lie down."

Aunt Violet followed Mary and me up to the room that Sherlock and I would share during our stay at North Riding. I got on the bed and lay on my side. It was the only lying position that I was comfortable with these days. Aunt Violet and Mary found chairs and brought them near the bed.

"Now what do you need to tell me?" I asked.

"You remember that I told you that your father hasn't been to a Twelfth Night celebration since your brother died?"

"Yes."  
"Your father evidently has changed his mind. Your mother has informed me that he intends to come to the celebration this year."

I sat up slowly. "Father has barely left his study since Nicholas passed away. What has made him change his habits so suddenly? He didn't even come to my wedding. How is he going to react when he sees me? I've changed quite a bit. He's never even seen Hannah yet."

"Now Emma," Mary said rubbing my hand. "Don't fret about it. You won't help you or your baby by worrying."

"Your friend is right. Just rest and relax, dear," Aunt Violet replied. "As to your father's changing, I don't know why he is changing so suddenly but I think that it has something to do with you." She touched my nose and smiled. I smiled back and yawned. "Now sleep my daughter. You and your child need all the rest you can get."

Mary took a rug from the foot of the bed and draped it over me as I closed my eyes. As I drifted off to sleep, I heard the door close as Aunt Violet and Mary went downstairs to let me rest quietly.

Noise filled the ballroom. Music playing, voices chattering, and children's laughter echoed throughout the room. Dancers spun and glided across the dance floor. I couldn't help but smile. Another Twelfth Night celebration at North Riding was well under way.

"Mama?" Hannah's small voice asked.

"Yes, dear?" I answered.

"Why aren't you dancing with Papa?"

I looked out on the dance floor. Sherlock was dancing with his sister. He saw me and winked. I smiled looked down at my daughter. "Because Hannah, your brother or sister won't let me move about as easily as I used to."

This was partial true. My large belly didn't allow graceful movements that dancing called for, but I had been feeling pressure in my lower back since yesterday. Watson said that it was a sign that the baby would be coming soon. I was happy to hear this, because I was very anxious to hold my baby in my arms.

"Mama?" Hannah said again.

"Yes?"

"Who is that with Grandmamma?" She pointed across the room towards the door. I looked and saw my parents standing there.

"Sir Jonathan and Lady Eleanor Callaway!" Simpson called out announcing my parents.

Sherlock had stopped dancing with Calantha. He came over to where I sat with Hannah. He picked Hannah up while I stood. I took his hand for support as my parents entered the ballroom.

A hushed silence had fallen over the room. Most of everyone in the room knew that my father hadn't come to the celebration in almost fifteen years. People moved aside as Mother and Father made their way towards Sherlock, Hannah, and me. I began to feel very lightheaded. My knees felt as if they were going to buckle.

"Mama, who is that?" Hannah asked again.

"That's your Grandfather, Honeybee," Sherlock said answering for me. "Emma, are you alright?"

"I don't know if I am. I feel dizzy all of a sudden."

"Maybe you should go upstairs for the night."

"Maybe I should." Sherlock moved to help me upstairs but I shook my head. "No, I'll have Watson and Mary help me. I fancy that they're both tired."

Sherlock caught Watson's eye and gave him a silent request to come over to us. Watson and Mary reached where we were just as my parents had. I met eyes with my father and seemed to know Watson what I wanted without me having to ask. He and Mary walked beside me as I moved past my father and mother. I gave Mother a wink letting her know I would be all right.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I felt a sharp pain in my back. Not the pain I had been feeling all throughout my pregnancy, the stiffness in my back, but a pain with a knife-like pain in my spine. I let out a gasp of pain, which caused Watson and Mary to jump.

"Emma, are you having contractions?" Watson asked, deducing the cause of my pain.

"I think I might be."

"Mary help me get her to her room. Then go and get Holmes," Watson ordered his wife. She nodded and did as she was told.

Once I was settled, Watson confirmed that I was indeed having contractions. Mary left to tell Sherlock that I was in labor. A few moments later I heard "Emma!" and the sounds of footsteps racing up the stairs. I knew that the feet they belonged to were my husband's. The door opened and confirmed it. Sherlock came in followed by Mary. He came to my bedside and took my hand.

"I don't believe it," Sherlock said. "I can't believe this is it."

"I can," I replied.

"How long will it be?" Sherlock asked Watson.

"No way to tell. It could be several hours before the baby is born."

"Shall I go down and get Hannah?" Mary asked.

I looked at Sherlock and he nodded. "Yes, Mary," I said. "And will you get my mother, please?"

"Of course."

When Mary closed the door, Sherlock turned to me. "Emma?"

"Yes, my love?"

"I've been thinking about names for the baby. If the baby is a girl, would you have any objections to naming her Amanda?"

"None. But what if the baby is a boy?"

"I think Nicholas is appropriate, don't you think?"

Nicholas? I was touched that he would want to name his son after my brother. "Naming him after my brother?"

"Yes. I know that you and your brother were very close. What do you think?"

"I think that Nicholas would think it to be a brilliant idea and so do I."

Sherlock kissed my forehead. I gripped his hand tightly as another contraction tore through me. Sherlock took a cool, damp handkerchief that Watson offered him. He wiped the sweat from my brow. As the contraction faded away, Hannah and Mother walked in with Mary leading the way.

"Why is Mama in bed?" Hannah asked. "It's not bedtime yet."

"Your mama is getting ready to have your brother or sister," Mother explained.

"Oh." Hannah climbed into Sherlock's lap, before sitting in the bed next to me. She put her hands on my belly. "Hello, baby," She said. "I'm your big sister. I can't wait to finally meet you. You'll like Mama and Papa. They know everything."

I smiled as another contraction surfaced. Sherlock lifted Hannah off the bed.

"Holmes, you better take Hannah out of here. I think that the baby is ready to come," Watson said rolling up his sleeves.

Sherlock nodded and handed the damp rag to Mary as she took his place. He kissed me and put a hand on my belly. He walked out of the room with Hannah in his arms.

Mother came and helped me to sit up. She and Mary took my hands as I felt a rush of fluid come out of me. I gripped Mary and Mother's hands and grinded my teeth to suppress the pain.

"Mary, get me a bowl of warm water!" Watson shouted as he prepared to deliver my baby. Mary nodded and ran out of the door.

"It's alright, my child," Mother said soothingly. "It'll all be over soon."

"Emma, when I tell you to, I want you to push down," Watson said.

I nodded breathlessly. I felt new beads of sweat forming on my body. Mother wiped the sweat away.

"Push!" Watson ordered.

I pushed down. I felt something move in me. I knew it was my baby. Mother sat behind so that when I could push no more, I could lean against her. I took deep breaths and held Mother's hand.

"Push!" Watson ordered again and I pushed. Such behavior continued for about twenty minutes. "The baby's head is crowning," Watson reported. I pushed again. "I've got the head. Keep pushing." I felt a shoulder come out, followed by the other. A body slid out of me and a cry reached my ears. "Congratulations Emma," Watson said. "It's a boy."

As Watson said that, Mary returned with the warm water. Watson handed her my son as he cut the umbilical cord. Mary washed my son and wrapped him in a blanket.

"He's beautiful, Emma," Mary said as she laid him in my arms.

He was indeed beautiful. His head was covered with fine dark hair. His little eyes were half closed, but I could see that they were grey. His moved his little hands in front his face. I touched his cheek lightly.

"Welcome to the world, my son," I said, gently. "My Nicholas."

"Nicholas?" Mother asked.

"Sherlock and I decided that if we had a son, we would name him Nicholas after his uncle, may God rest his soul."

"Amen," Mother replied. "The name suits him very well. Shall I get the rest of your family?"

I nodded. She opened the door and called to Sherlock. Sherlock entered the room with Hannah still in his arms. He had untied his dress tie and unbuttoned his collar. Hannah's head was resting on his shoulder. She had so wanted to see her new little brother that she refused to sleep until she had.

As Sherlock approached my bed, he gave Hannah to Mother. His eyes glanced over our son. He brought his hand up and gently touched Nicholas' soft head.

"Would you like to hold him?" I asked.

"He is so small. I would surely crush him," Sherlock answered.

"If he is anything like you, Sherlock," Mother chimed in. "You have nothing to worry about. Go on."

I gently laid Nicholas into Sherlock's outstretched arms. He squirmed a little at being disturbed, but quickly settled back down. Nicholas' little hand curled itself around Sherlock's index finger. Sherlock smiled.

"I have a son," he whispered in wonderment.

"I want to see him," Hannah said. Her voice indicated she was very sleepy. Sherlock walked over to her and held up her new brother. "What's his name?" she mumbled.

"Nicholas," Mother replied softly. Hannah nodded approvingly and closed her eyes. "I'll go and put her to bed," Mother said quietly. She left the room followed by Mary and Watson. Sherlock and I were left alone with our infant son.

"Emma, while I was outside, I got to thinking. Since we are naming our son after your brother, what if his middle names were those of my brothers. How does Nicholas Sherrinford Mycroft Holmes strike you?"

"I can't help feeling something is missing. What about Nicholas Sherrinford Mycroft John Holmes?"  
"John?"

"After Watson. He's been like a brother to you for so many years. You've even said so yourself."

"That's true." He looked down at the baby in his arms. Nicholas' face seemed to scrunch up as if he didn't like the idea of having four names ahead of his surname. "I'm sorry little man, but your mother will insist upon this. You will be called Nicholas Sherrinford Mycroft John Holmes."

I remained in bed for most of the next day. The only time I was awake was to feed Nicholas. As the days passed, I moved about more. Sherlock and I decided to extend our holiday a bit longer, so that Nicholas and I could grow stronger for the journey home. This didn't upset Hannah at all. She was more than happy to stay with her grandparents a few extra days. Mother and Aunt Violet continually cooed over baby Nicholas. Uncle Siger and Sherlock were already discussing Nicholas' future.

"Isn't it a bit early to decide such things?" I asked one evening after dinner as I nursed Nicholas for the last time before bed. Watson and Mary had decided to retire early, leaving the Holmes' family to stay up and discuss family affairs. "He is still so young for you to be considering such things."

"Not at all," Sherlock said. "We need to plan financially for his university training. I fancy that Nicholas will make an excellent politician."

"Now just one moment Sherlock," I interjected. "Doing things like this might cause a rift between you and Nicholas later in life. Perhaps when the time comes for Nicholas to go to university, he should be allowed to choose what his wants to do with his life. If you decide for him now, he may grow to hate you as you hated your father for so many years."

"She is right," Mother said. "And besides as, Emma's first born son, Nicholas is the heir to her estate that she is entitled to under my will."

"Won't Jonathan have something to say about this?" Uncle Siger asked.

"Now Siger, you know perfectly well that the estate that Emma will inherit upon my death was given to me by my father. Jonathan has never been in charge of the estate in all the years I've been married to him and he likes it that way. I know that he will be happy that Emma now has a son to inherit the estate."

"I think that once Nicholas is married, he can have the estate." I replied. "I'll have no use for it and I have no doubt that by the time our children have grown, Sherlock and I will be ready to retire to a villa in the countryside to watch our grandchildren grow."

"Indeed. And you are right Emma. We shouldn't be discussing Nicholas' future now. When the time is right, he will decide his own course," Sherlock said gently touching his son's head.

"Excuse me, sir?" Simpson said entering the drawing room.

"Yes, Simpson. What is it?" Uncle Siger asked.

"Sir Jonathan is outside wishing to speak with Miss Emma and Master Sherlock. Shall I admit him?"

Uncle Siger looked to Sherlock and I for an answer. We looked at each other and Sherlock nodded, indicating we would see my father. "Show him in Simpson," Uncle Siger commanded.

"Very good, sir." Simpson disappeared for one moment and returned with my father. Sherlock moved behind the chair where I sat with our son. He put his hand on my shoulder.

"Thank you Simpson," Aunt Violet said. "Emma, shall we leave?"

"No. Whatever Father has to say he can say in front of all of us."

"Still as independent as ever I see," Father said.

"What have you come to say to us, Jonathan?" Sherlock asked dropping the uncle he had used for so many years. Sherlock had come to loathe my father almost as much as I did.

"I have come to see my grandson, whom I understand you have named after my dead son."

"We have named him in the memory of his mother's brother," Sherlock retorted sharply.

"Darling," I said taking hold of his sleeve. "It can't hurt for him to see our son."

Sherlock relax and stood aside. Father shuffled over to where I sat. He looked down at my tiny son. His eyes moved from Sherlock to Nicholas and from me to Nicholas. I knew what he was doing. He was looking for characteristics that Sherlock and me had passed on to our son and ones that reminded him of my brother.

"He looks too much like his father," Father said in disgust.

"What's wrong with that?" Sherlock asked, offenend.

"Nothing's wrong with it Sherlock," Mother said taking Sherlock's arm. "You are a very handsome man and Nicholas will grow up to equally handsome."

"Mama," Hannah's voice called out from the door. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "What's going on?"

"Nothing dear. Go back to bed."

"I can't sleep. Can I stay up for a bit?"

"I suppose so. Come here."

She walked over to my outstretched arms and climbed into my lap. She laid her head on my chest and snuggled into my arms.

"Now why is that my little honeybee can't sleep?" Sherlock asked her taking Nicholas from Aunt Violet.

"I imagine that she heard loud voices all the way up in the nursery," I replied shooting a glare at my father.

"Who is that?" Father asked looking at Hannah.

"Your granddaughter. Father, this is Hannah Rebecca Martha Irene Holmes, my daughter."

"Your daughter?"

"Yes. Sherlock and I adopted her the day that we married. Her parents were good friends of ours."

"Taking in strays now are we?"

"Strays!" I exclaimed in a furious voice. Hannah leapt off my lap and into the arms of her grandmother. Uncle Siger took Nicholas from Sherlock as he came to stand behind me. Nobody, not even a member of my family, insulted my children in front of me. "How dare you!"

"Emma, think about what you have done," Father said condescendingly. "You could not have made a worse choice when it comes to a husband. A consulting detective indeed. No man of our status would be in such a line of work. Plus there's bad blood on his side. A French grandmother indeed."

"I have French relatives as well father. Are you saying that I have bad blood as well?"

"You must. No daughter of mine would act as you have. You've gone and married a man that your father doesn't approve of and had a son who you name after your dead brother, an insult to his memory. Then let us look at the fact that you have a daughter who isn't even of our blood. I am ashamed to share a name with you."

"Isn't it lucky for both of us that I no longer have your name."

"Indeed."

"I can't believe that the question of good and bad blood still matters to you. I don't care what Hannah's heritage is. Think what you like Father, but she is my daughter now and neither you nor anyone else is going to change that! Whether you like it or not she is part of your family!"

We left Yorkshire the following day. Hannah sat in her Aunt Mary's lap the whole way home. She was frightened of me. I hardly ever raised my voice to anyone, not even my own children. Nicholas lay next to his father fast asleep on a blanket that my mother had knitted for him. Sherlock sat across from me and just stared at me for the whole trip.

"Emma," he finally said as we settled uneasily back into Baker Street.

"What?"

"Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?"

I licked my paper-dry lips and shook my head. Tears started pouring from my eyes. I really did want to talk about it, but I couldn't find the words to do so. I put my head in my hands and cried.

Sherlock sat next to me on the bed. He encircled me with his arms and held me close. I turned and buried my face in my husband's chest. "How could he say such things about Hannah? Nicholas? You? Me? Your family? Even my mother? How could he in his heart of hearts say those things?"

"I don't know," Sherlock, answered softly stroking my hair the way he always did. "Listen, if you want you don't have to go to Yorkshire ever again. That way you won't have to see him anymore."

I shook my head. "That would kill my mother, never seeing her grandchildren again. It wouldn't do at all."

"Well we can't have episodes like this every time we visit. How are we going to solve this so it won't happen again?"

"I don't know. We might just have to wait it out. My father won't be around forever."

I didn't realize when I said these words that they would be the start of something that would leave me alone and empty for a period of time. Sherlock and I went to bed with my father's words still echoing in our heads. The next morning we went about our business as we had done so many days before now, not realizing that a dark cloud was hanging above us.


	14. Chapter 14

_Dear Readers,_

_This is Summer Skye. I know I have not updated this story in forever, but I have taken a different line with it. But I will finish and post this story track for your enjoyment. Hopefully, someday I will publish the new story line I have developed for Emma and I hope you will like it just as much._

* * *

EMMA-

I shall never in my life forget the events that took place in the early part of 1891. Aside from the joyous arrival of my son, I would be struck by two distressing events that make me treasure my family each and every day.

The first distressing event was in March of 1891. Nicholas was two months old and growing. Hannah was now five years old and shooting up like a weed. Sherlock had become a bit more distant than was usual when he was on a case. When I asked him about it, he mumbled something about a master criminal. I remained busy with my domestic responsibilities. Thankfully I had Mrs. Hudson and Penny around to assist me.

It was after tea on a Monday, I believe. Nicholas had been put down for his afternoon nap. Hannah sat at the table with me. A slate lay in front of her as she copied letters I had written on the slate. Sherlock and I had wasted no time in decided that it was time for Hannah to start learning her letters and sums. Every afternoon, she would sit down with me and I would teach her. Sherlock sat in his chair with his pipe between his teeth and a paper in hand. There was sudden knock at the door.

"Come in," Sherlock called.

Penny entered the room. "Excuse me sir, madam. But the is a gentleman here to see Mrs. Holmes."

"Me?" I asked.

"Yes, madam. He said to tell you his name is Baines."

"Thank you Penny. Show Mr. Baines up."

"Very good, madam." Penny exited the sitting room and returned with the faithful butler of Willow Grove.

"What is it Baines?" I asked as soon as Penny had gone. "Has something happened at Willow Grove?"

"Yes Miss Emma. It's your father, miss, he passed away during the night."

Sherlock put down his paper and took his pipe from his mouth. Hannah put down her slate pencil.

"Emma, are you all right?" Sherlock asked coming over to me. He placed his hand on my shoulder.

"I'll be fine. I must say that I am not surprised. Father's been ill for years and it was only a matter of time."

"That's true miss," Baines said in agreement. "The doctor says that he didn't suffer when he died."

"I am happy about that. Has Mother set a date for the funeral?"

"Yes, miss. It's the day after tomorrow. She hopes you, Master Sherlock, and the little ones will me there."

"We'll be there Baines. Rest to sure; we'll be there. Thank you for coming and telling me."

"My pleasure, miss. Well I better get back to the manor. There's so much to do before the funeral."

"Of course."

"Good afternoon, Miss Emma, Master Sherlock, Miss Hannah." Baines nodded his head and left us.

Nicholas' cries caught my attention. I got up and went to my baby. Bringing him back with me into the sitting room with me.

"Emma, are you sure you're well?" Sherlock asked.

"I am perfectly fine Sherlock." I sighed. "Hannah I think we can stop for the day. Please go and put your books away."

"Can play for a while?" she asked.

"Yes you may, but do it very quietly. Your father and I need to have a talk."

Hannah slid down from her chair. Once she shut the door of the nursery, I turned back to Sherlock.

"It's strange," I said. "I'm sorry that my father is dead, but he wasn't there for so much of my life that I can't find it in my heart to mourn him."

"I must admit," Sherlock, said, "that I am finding it difficult to mourn his passing as well. The least I can do is offer you and your mother some support in the months ahead."

My father's funeral wasn't a large affair. It was limited to friends and family only. Sherlock's family, even Mycroft, was in attendance. Uncle Siger gave the eulogy, during which Mother broke down into tears. After my father's coffin was laid into the ground, we all departed for Willow Grove. A few days later, Sherlock received a telegram from London asking for his immediate return. The children and I returned to London with him. Soon after our return to London, Sherlock said that he had to be away from me temporarily.

"But why?" I asked.

"It's for you safety and the safety of our children. I'll be back as soon as I maybe."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to stay with Mycroft for a spell. You've heard me mention Professor Moriarty to you?"

"Yes. I remember you referring to him as the Napoleon of Crime, a rather august title for any man, I thought."

"Oh but he deserves such a title. I've been working to break up his organization. Its come to a point were I've traced a case directly to Moriarty."

"And you fear an attack of some kind."

"Yes. It is safer for our children if I wasn't around to put them in danger."

"Hannah will ask where you are?"

"Tell her that I've gone to France to solve a mystery. That should satisfy her or anyone else who should ask, even Watson." He kissed my forehead. "I don't relish leaving you unprotected."

"Sherlock worrying about whether or not the children and I are safe will not help you catch Moriarty. From what you've told me about him, this is strictly between you and him. I don't think that he will bring an attack upon our children, not if he wanted incur a mother's wrath."

Sherlock laughed. "It would a strategically out of his favor to do so. But now I must go."

I kissed him good-bye. "Be careful, my love," I said.

He touched my cheek before walking out of the sitting room. I went to the window and watched as he hailed a cab. As he rode away, I noticed someone from across the street staring up at the house. Before I could get a better look at his face, he disappeared. A cold shiver ran down my spine as I made a silent prayer for the safety of my husband and children.

Weeks went by since Sherlock left. Watson had dropped in to visit on occasion. As Sherlock had instructed, I told Watson that Sherlock had gone to France at the request of the French government and I didn't know when he would be back. During those weeks I maintained the routine I had always kept. Making sure my children were cleaned, dressed, and fed properly in the morning, educating Hannah and tending to Nicholas in the afternoon, reading to them and tucking them into bed in the evening.

Close to the end of April, Sherlock returned home unannounced one evening. I was reading to Hannah when he walked in. Hannah leapt off my lap and ran to her father. Sherlock scooped her up into his arms.

"I missed you Papa," Hannah said.

"And I missed you honeybee. Were you good for mama while I was gone?"

"Yes. Yesterday, Mama and I made cookies."

"My how exciting."

"But now," I said rising from my chair, "it's time for bed."

"Papa, will you tuck me in?" Hannah asked.

Sherlock looked over at me. I nodded as I picked Nicholas up from the couch. While Sherlock tucked Hannah into bed, I laid Nicholas in his cradle, which was in the bedroom that Sherlock and I shared.

"It's so good to be home," Sherlock said closing the door of our room.

"It's good to have you back. It's been rather lonely at night without you."

"I imagine." He came over to Nicholas' cradle. "I can't believe that he's three months old now."

"Watson is sure that he'll be as tall as you are when he's finally all down growing. I'm inclined to believe him."

"So am I. You know sometimes I wake up and I think that all this was a dream. But then I look down next to me and I see you lay there. I'm a very lucky man with the wife and children I have."

"And our children are lucky to have a father like you."

"Emma, make me a promise."

"If I can."

"Promise me that if anything should happened to me that you'll wait five years before you remarry."

"What? Sherlock why are you talking like this?"

"Because I fear that even if I bring about Moriarty's down fall, there are those in his organization who will wish my death. There might be a time where you'll be without me."

"Sherlock please don't talk like this. You will survive this and we'll have many happy years of marriage together."

"I hope you're right, my dear. I hope you're right."

The next morning Sherlock and I were sitting at the table with our children finishing breakfast when I heard Mrs. Hudson's voice from downstairs. She was protesting about something. Sherlock put down his paper and put his hand in the pocket of his dressing gown. He stood as the sitting room door opened and a man stepped into the room.

Never in all my life had I felt such a cold and evil presence as this man gave me. His hair had gone grey with age and his eyes were of the same color. The look in his eyes gave me a shiver down my spine.

"You have less frontal development than I should have expected," said he at last. "It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing gown."

Sherlock drew the firearm from his pocket and put it on the table.

"You evidently don't know me," he said.

"On the contrary," Sherlock said. "I think it is fairly evident that I do, but my wife might not."

"I don't," I said picking Nicholas up and standing. "But I'm sure that I can deduce the identity of our unexpected caller."

"I'm sure that you can Mrs. Holmes. But for the sake of etiquette, I am Professor James Moriarty."

"Professor," I said with mild politeness.

"Pray take a chair," Sherlock said addressing the professor. "I can spare you five minutes if you have anything to say."

"All that I have to say has already crossed your mind," Moriarty said.

"Then possibly my answer has crossed yours," Sherlock replied.

"You stand fast?"

"Absolutely."

Moriarty reached into his coat and Sherlock reached for his gun while I kept my children close to me. From his pocket, Moriarty drew out a memorandum book.

"You crossed my path on the 4th of January," he said. "On the 23rd you incommoded me; by the middle of February I was seriously inconvenienced by you; at the end of March I was absolutely hampered in my plans; and now, at the close of April, I find myself placed in such a position through your continual persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty. The situation is becoming an impossible one."

"Have you any suggestion to make?" Sherlock asked.

"You must drop it, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty said. "You really must, you know."

"After Monday."

"Tut, tut. I am quite sure that a man of your intelligence will see that there can only but one outcome to this affair. It is necessary that you should withdraw. I would hate for your family to come to harm."

"Leave my wife and children out of this, Moriarty. This is between you and me."

"But surely your wife must know all about this dual between us."

"All that I know that there is some sort of tension between my husband and yourself," I said.

"Yes, I know my dear Mrs. Holmes. I was merely proving a theory. You have no need to fear from me, Mrs. Holmes. I have no quarrel with you or your children." He turned his attention back to my husband. "It has been an intellectual treat to me to see the way in which you have grappled with this affair, and I say, unaffectedly, that it would be a grief to me to be forced to take any extreme measure. You smile, sir, but I assure you that it really would, as I have no doubt it would cause your wife."

"Danger is part of my trade. Emma knows this and has accepted that," Sherlock remarked.

"This is not danger. It is inevitable destruction. You stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty organization, the full extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to realize. You must stand clear, Mr. Holmes, or be trodden underfoot."

"I am afraid that in the pleasure of this conversation I am neglecting business of importance which awaits me elsewhere."

"Well, well. It seems a pity, but I have done what I could. I know every move of your game. You can do nothing before Monday. It has been a duel between you and me, Mr. Holmes. You hope to put me in the dock. I tell you that I will never stand in the dock. You hope to beat me. I tell you that you will never beat me. If you are clever enough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I should do as much to you."

"You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty," Sherlock said picking Hannah up off the ground. "Let me pay you one in return when I say that if I were assured of the former eventuality I would, in the interests of the public, cheerfully accept the latter."

"I can promise you the one but not the other," the professor said with a snarl as he slammed the door behind him.

Sherlock and I carried our children to the window as we watched the professor hail a cab in the street. Before stepping into the cab, Moriarty shot a cold glare up at our window. Sherlock put his free arm around my shoulder and gave his nemesis a look of stubborn defiance. Looking away, Moriarty stepped into the cab and drove away from Baker Street.

"What a horrible man," I said sitting on the couch. "He reminded me of a snake in more ways than one."

"Quite. Emma, I don't trust Moriarty's assurances that no harm will come to you or the children."

"I am beginning to rethink my own opinion of him, myself."

"Now listen to me. I want you to take the children to your mother's. Stay there until you hear from me that it's safe to return home. I want you and the children as far away from London that I can manage and I want it done today."

"I quite agree."

We rose and dashed to our room. I place Nicholas in his cradle while Sherlock put Hannah on the bed. We pulled items of clothing from our wardrobe and furiously packed the bags that would travel with me.

"Sherlock what will become of you?" I asked as we packed.

"I will go to the Continent for a while. The farther away I am from you the safer you are."

"At least take Watson with you. I will sleep more soundly if I knew he was with you," I said softly. I did not relish the thought of being away from him. I sat on the bed next to Hannah. She climbed into my lap.

"I will. Emma, please try not to worry." He sat down next to Hannah and me. He took Nicholas from the cradle and held him. "Whatever happens to me, I will always be with you, all of you." He took his watch from his waistcoat. He placed it in my hands and closed them around it. "If I should pass into the next world, give this to Nicholas when he comes of age."

"I will. Oh Sherlock," I threw my arms around his neck and wept freely into his shoulder. He held me close. Hannah was squeezed between us. She put her arms around her father and sniffled. Sherlock gently stroked my hair as he always did to comfort me.

"Oh my girls, my girls," he whispered softly. "Please don't cry."

"I don't want you to go away again Papa," Hannah said.

"I don't want to go away either Honeybee, but I must. You're going to have to be a big girl and help Mama while I'm away."

"I will Papa, I will."


	15. Chapter 15

EMMA-

That very afternoon with my children, I boarded the train to Yorkshire for the first time since my father's death. Sherlock went with us to the station and stood alone on the platform as he watched our train pull out. Hannah and I were silent the whole way up. Though she was only five, it seemed to me that Hannah understood what was going on.

We arrived at my mother's shortly after dinner. Mother was surprised to see us. She thought at first that Sherlock and I had had some kind of quarrel, but when I explained the situation to her, she immediately took steps to insure the safety of my children for the night.

"I think that you should take the children to North Riding tomorrow," Mother suggested as she helped me tuck my children into bed. "This house is so big and drafty and it's no place for children. Besides Hannah and Diana will be able to play together."

"And it would be safer. There are more people at North Riding. But I should probably contact Sherlock through Mycroft of the change of plans."

"Yes, indeed. Now you should try and get some sleep, child. Heaven knows that you will need all the rest you can get in the days to come."

I didn't sleep at all that night. I was far too worried about Sherlock to sleep. The next day, Mother and I took the children to North Riding. Mother insisted on staying with me until I could be reunited with my husband. "Family," she said, "should remain together through the best of times and the worst of times." I was glad to have my mother there with me especially the day that Watson came to North Riding.

It was in the second week of May, when he came. I was sitting out on the lawn with Uncle Siger, Aunt Violet, Mother, Sherrinford, and Virginia watching our children played in the distance. Nicholas sat on a blanket with Sherrinford, Virginia, and me.

"Excuse me sir," Simpson said coming to the garden. "But Master Mycroft is here with Dr. Watson to see Miss Emma."

"Some news from Sherlock perhaps," Sherrinford suggested.

"Perhaps," I said rising. "Virginia would you mind Nicholas?"

"Of course."

"Shall I come with you Emma?" Uncle Siger asked.

"If you please."

Uncle Siger walked back up to the house with me. Simpson led us into Uncle Siger's ground floor study. The moment I stepped into the room and felt the stillness in the room, I felt my heart sink into the bottoms of my feet. Watson and Mycroft rose as Simpson left us. I saw no emotion on Mycroft's face, but Watson's face was very pale and grim.

"Please take a seat Emma," Watson said quietly.

"I'd prefer to stand."

"Very well. I'm sorry, Emma, I'm so very sorry, but there isn't any easy way to say such things. It's Holmes."

"What about him? Watson what has happened to him?" I asked almost pleading.

"Emma there was a fight between Holmes and Professor Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland. I'm not sure how it occurred, but somehow one of them slipped and…" his voice trailed off not wanting to tell me more. But I knew.

Tear brimmed over my eyes. "No. No, it can't be. Watson, please tell me that it isn't true?"

"I'm afraid that it is. He's gone."

"No. No. No!" I screamed and turned towards Uncle Siger. He held me close to him trying his best to calm my tears, but he could not. There was only one man on this earth he could calm any of my tears and the tears that I now shed were for him. My husband, my soul mate, my friend, the love of my life was dead.

"Mycroft," I heard Uncle Siger say. "Would you have your mother and the rest of the family brought in here? They all need to hear what has happened."

Mycroft brushed past us as he went to retrieve the rest of our family. Uncle Siger and Watson assisted me into a chair. Watson brought me a glass of water, which I took from him with a shaking hand.

"Emma," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let this happen."

"It's not your fault Watson," I said in a cracking voice. "It couldn't have been prevented."

At that moment, my family came in through the door. The moment I saw my children, I reached for them. Hannah came to me at once.

"Why are you crying Mama?" she asked.

I brushed strands of her brown hair behind her ear. "Because I am very sad Honeybee."

"When Papa gets back he'll make you feel better," Hannah said completely unaware of what had happened.

I shook my head. "No, my sweet child, he won't. Hannah, Papa won't be able to come back to us."

"Why not?"

"Because he's gone up to Heaven."

She looked at me. Her blue eyes burned into me. In her eyes I could see the people that I had lost over the years, my brother, Irene, Mr. Norton, my father, and now my husband.

"Is Papa an angel now?" she asked.

I couldn't speak, so I nodded. She climbed into my lap as I felt tear trickle down my face. I held her close to me. I knew I wasn't the only one crying. Aunt Violet burst into tears and was being comforted by Uncle Siger. Virginia, who still had Nicholas, was standing closer to Sherrinford. Thomas and Diana remained close to their parents. Mother had come sat next to me. Mycroft stood alone and silent choosing to grieve in his own way.

"All things considered," Mycroft said at last. "I think that we could say that Sherlock would have wanted to things this way."

"Mycroft!" Aunt Violet said chiding him.

"No Aunt Violet," I said. "Mycroft's right. Sherlock's death means that it's safer for our children to walk on. Moriarty and his gang can't hurt us anymore."

We held a small private memorial service for Sherlock a few days after we received the news. The children and I stayed at North Riding for the remainder of May and returned to London at the beginning of June. Watson accompanied us home.

As we approached Baker Street, I thought my eyes would fall out. A large group of people stood outside of my home. Mrs. Hudson stood on the doorstep trying to get rid of them. The cab stopped in front of the house. Watson got out first, then Hannah. I handed Nicholas to Watson and I stepped out.

"On Mrs. Holmes, thank goodness you're back," Mrs. Hudson said.

The crowd immediately rounded on me. Based on their attire, I deduced that this group of people was the worst kind. They were reporters. They bombarded me with questions about my late husband. Watson helped me push my way through the sea of reporters. Mrs. Hudson took Nicholas from Watson and ushered Hannah inside.

"Watson," I said raising my voice above the ruckus of the crowd. "Is Scotland Yard on your way home?"

"It is."

"Would you please tell Inspector Lestrade I wish to see him about this unwanted crowd in front of my house?"

"But we haven't done anything wrong!" one reporter cried.

"You've all been heartless. Can't you all see that the death of my husband has been hard on all of us? If you had any decency you would leave us alone to grieve our loss."

I turned on my heel and went into the house, shutting the door behind me. "Vultures all of them. Just waiting to pounce on the sorrow of others," I muttered as I took my son from Mrs. Hudson.

"Quite. But Inspector Lestrade will get rid of them sure enough."

Sure enough, Inspector Lestrade had the reporters removed from the premise and he conveyed the condolences from all the inspectors at Scotland Yard. He informed me that if I should need anything that he or any of the other inspectors could do for me that I shouldn't hesitate to call upon them. I thanked him and promised that I would.

As he left, Mrs. Hudson came up with some tea. She had me a cup and gave one to Hannah as well. She took one for herself and sat with us.

"It feels like that he's still here," I said as I took a sip of tea.

"I know. It's going to be difficult to live here without him," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Yes, it will be."


	16. Chapter 16

EMMA-

Two years passed since the death of my husband, Sherlock Holmes and I was on a train in France with my children. It was now January of 1893 and so much had happened. Hannah was now seven and Nicholas was now two. Sherrinford and Virginia had had a third child, a son, which they named William in honor of his uncle. Calantha's daughter Lilith was a year old and there was talk of another child soon. But amidst all the joy that had befallen my family since Sherlock's death, there was also sadness.

Just a year before in 1892, Mary Watson fell ill. Watson was deeply worried and I often went over to help nurse my sick friend. Mary's physician said that the illness had done some damage to Mary's heart and she wasn't likely to survive. Mary's struggle ended in February of that same year. Watson was very distressed over her passing and I tried to offer him some comfort. I offered to allow him to move back into Baker Street, but he declined. I understood there were far too many memories in that house where so many adventures began and ended.

Late in 1892, I think it was about November, I received a telegram from Bernadette Vernet, a maternal cousin of Sherlock's. I remembered her from when she would visit North Riding when I was a child. Then she was a young woman, but when I saw her at my wedding, she was a woman in here early fifties. She had never married and lived quite alone in her chateau outside of Montpellier.

In her telegram, Bernadette had asked me to pay her a visit in France and bring my children along. Bernadette had met Hannah at the wedding but she had yet to meet Nicholas. After long consideration, I didn't see any harm in taking the children to visit their French cousins. I sent a reply to Bernadette telling her to expect me in January.

When I informed Watson of my intending holiday, he had mixed feelings. On the one side he was pleased that I was taking a holiday away from London, but he was concerned about me traveling unaccompanied with two small children.

"You shouldn't worry, my friend," I said as I packed. "It isn't the first time I've traveled without an escort to the Continent and I imagine it will not be the last time."

"Yes, but that was before you had two children. Emma do you insist on going to France?"

"I do."

"Then at least let me come with you."

I shook my head. "No Watson. You've said for almost two years now that it isn't healthy for me to think about him all the time. A change of scenery is just the prescription that you recommended. Besides, you yourself aren't ready to leave England. Mary's passing has hit us all hard and you most of all. If you come to France with me and the children, you'll just be wanting to come back to England so that you can be closer to Mary."

"I suppose that's true. If you must go Emma then let me escort you to the boat for your crossing."

"I think that is agreeable."

Watson escorted us as far as the boat. Hannah and Nicholas waved good-bye to their godfather as the boat pulled out of the harbor. He smiled and waved back. Soon we lost sight of him and a few hours later we saw the harbor at Calais. From Calais, we boarded a train that would take us to Montpellier.

It was now the fourth day of our journey to Montpellier and our journey was coming to a close. The children were anxious to get off the train and so was I. The train came to a halt at the station. I got out of the train first and helped my children down, first Hannah then Nicholas. I balanced Nicholas on my hip as I held Hannah hand.

"Madame Holmes?" A man's voice asked.

I turned around and came face to face with a tall man. He had brown hair and a mustache. His grey eyes were encircled by mirthful crescents as he smiled at my children. He took his hat off to me.

"I am Madame Holmes," I replied in French.

"My name is Jacques and Madame Vernet has sent me to collect you and your petite ones."

"I see. Well Jacques if you would be so kind as to fetch the luggage, we will be on our way."

"At once, Madame."

Jacques led us to a carriage, which bore the Vernet coat of arms. While Jacques placed the luggage on the carriage, I put my children inside and got them settled before climbing in myself. Jacques then climbed into the driver's seat of the carriage and whipped up the horses.

Hannah and Nicholas stared out the window the whole way to Bernadette's chateau. I myself couldn't help but look out the window myself. My last visit to France was my wedding trip. I had almost forgotten how beautiful the French countryside was.

We drove for almost an hour before I could see the tops of Bernadette's chateau. As we came into the drive, I saw Bernadette standing on the front steps with her servants waiting for our arrival. The carriage stopped and Jacques climbed down and opened the door. He lifted Hannah and Nicholas out before helping me down.

"Emma," Bernadette said coming forward and kissing my cheeks. "I am so glad that you and the children came." She spoke in French, which caused my children to blink. I had been teaching Hannah French as apart of her lessons, and Nicholas would learn also when he grew older.

"Thank you for inviting us, Bernadette," I replied in French as well. "You remember my daughter Hannah?"

"Of course and this is your son Nicholas?"

"Yes."

"Oh he looks just like his father. Now come in all of you. Jacques when you've tended to the luggage, will you come to the parlor for further instructions?"

"Of course, Madame."

Bernadette led us into the chateau. We entered her parlor, where a maid was waiting.

"Emma, I've had a nursery prepared for the children. Perhaps you would allow Genevieve to show them to the nursery."

"I think that will be all right. Both the children seem tired."

Bernadette motioned for the maid to take charge of the children. Hannah went without a fuss, but Nicholas wasn't willing to leave me as easily. I whispered reassurance in his ear and handed him to Genevieve. As Genevieve left, Jacques entered the parlor.

"Excuse me, Madame. But Madame Levesque wishes to have your opinion of the fabric for the new curtains in morning room."

"Oh thank you, Jacques. Will you excuse me, Emma?"

"Of course."

"Jacques will you keep Madame Holmes company until I get back?"

"As you wish Madame."

Bernadette walked out of the parlor and Jacques remained near the door. There was something about Jacques that was eerily familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Tell me Jacques, have you been with Bernadette long?"

"No Madame. I started work here only last month."

"Yet Bernadette seems to have great trust in you."

"You might say that I am almost family to her."

"So you are related to the Vernets?"

"Yes," he said in perfect English. His voice was familiar. I knew his voice. It belonged to one person.

"Sherlock?" I asked.

Jacques smiled. He removed the mustache and a wig and tossed them aside. Where Jacques once stood, now stood my husband. We stood there staring at each other for a moment, just a moment. I ran to him and he scooped me up in his arms. I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by emotion. He was here and he was alive.

"I can't believe it," I said through my tears. I pulled away from him and cupped his face in my hands. "You're alive?"

"Yes, my dear. I'm here."

"Prove to me that you are alive."

He brought me closer to him and brought his lips to mine. I felt my heart burst with joy. His taste and scent dashed away all the grief I had felt over the last two years. I wrapped my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. I held him tightly, for fear that this was just a dream and he would be gone as soon as I woke up.

He broke the kiss and he was still standing before me. He held me and brushed my hair with his hand as he always had done. I knew that in my heart he had returned to me and he wouldn't leave me again.

"But Watson said that you had fallen into the chasm."

"My dear Emma, I was never in the chasm. After Moriarty fell, I back tracked and climbed up the cliff face."

"Then why didn't you contact me and tell me that you were alive?"

"Oh Emma, believe me when I say that I wanted to. But I couldn't do so without putting you and the children in danger."

"Danger?"

"Moriarty's right hand man witnessed my escape. He shot at me as I made my escape."

"Were you hurt?"

"No. I escaped and made my way to Florence."

The door opened and Bernadette entered. "I see that you have made yourself known to your wife, cousin. I am sure that you are both tired."

"Indeed," I said.

"Yes,' Sherlock replied. "My own journey here was tiring."

"Your journey?" I asked.

"I only arrived here three days before you," Sherlock said. "Now come, my dear. You should get some rest."

Sherlock led me upstairs to our bedroom. We changed our clothes and he slid into bed. He watched me take my hair down and brush it out. I climbed into bed next to him and I felt complete now that he was at my side once more.

Hannah was overjoyed to see her father again. Nicholas was hesitant. He didn't remember Sherlock at all and it would take some time for him to feel comfortable around his father again. Sherlock was crestfallen but I assured him that Nicholas was like that with everyone. They both need to get used to each other again. We spent weeks together just the four of us as a family. Our children were happy that we were a family again. Sherlock and I were already looking toward the future.

We had been in Montpellier for almost three months and I knew that I was pregnant again. I wasn't sure at first, but when my body began to change, I was sure. It was on a sunny day in March and Hannah and Nicholas were playing on the lawn. Sherlock and I sat on a bench watching on.

"Emma, you seem different," Sherlock commented.

"Do I?"

"Yes, I haven't seen you glow as you have been for the last few months since you were carrying Nich…o…las." He looked at me with a knowing look. "Emma is there something you should be telling me?"

"It's nothing important," I replied.

"Emma, I know that look in your eyes."

"Well…"

"Emma."

I sighed. "I can't find it forever. I'm expecting a baby in the fall."

"What? A baby? So soon?"

"Sherlock, I haven't seen you in two years."

He cleared his throat. "So how far along are you?"

"Three months I should think. I'm not sure."

He slid closer to me and put his arms around me. "So I suppose that we'll need to start preparing for our next child."

I kissed him and we watched our children continue to play.

Six months later on September 20th 1893, I gave birth to a daughter. We named her Amanda Eleanor Virginia Bernadette Holmes. Hannah and Nicholas were both thrilled. For Hannah, she had a little sister and for Nicholas, he was no longer the youngest. For Sherlock and I, we were grateful that she was born healthy. We decided to stay in France for the time being. I regularly wrote to Watson, omitting my husband and my youngest daughter. In time he would come to know all. In time, I hoped that we would all be back in London.

It was one April morning in 1894, I had just seated myself to breakfast with Amanda in my lap. Hannah and Nicholas already had full plates in front of them. Sherlock sat opposite me with a paper in his hands.

"Mama," Hannah said.

"Yes, my love."

"Aunt Bernadette said that I could ride one of the ponies today. May I?"

Hannah had a great love of horses and ponies. She was old enough now. "I suppose so."

"Me too!" Nicholas cried out, not wanting to miss the fun.

"No," I said, "When you're older."

Nicholas pouted and poked his eggs with a spoon. I had just loaded a spoon with mushed apples, when Sherlock let out a howl. We all looked up at him as he threw down the paper and ran out of the room. Hannah ran to the discarded paper and brought it to me. I found an article about the death of the Honorable Ronald Adair who was murdered in his Park Lane residence. The door was closed and the window had only been open a crack. It was only when I read that half Adair's head had been blown off did I understand. Sherlock had told me of the accuracy of Moriarty's right hand man and now he had shown his hand.

"Mama what is wrong with Papa?" Hannah asked.

"Nothing at all, my dear. Now finish your breakfast. I fancy we'll be going back to London soon."


End file.
